Prerequisite
by Gloria B
Summary: Despair crept along Duo’s skin, wishing he’d known before that there would come a time when he’d push this man too far, wishing he’d listened to the little voice inside of him that said one day, he’d have to pay the piper and start all over again.1x2
1. Prologue

**Title**: Prerequisite  
**Chapter Title**: Prologue  
**Summary**: Frayed, on edge. Duo would walk away smiling. Heero would have something to take with him into hell. It might be enough. Might be worth it. Neither of them ever expected to live long enough to regret it.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: In the prologue, I intend to rely heavily on events occurring during episodes forty-five through forty-eight.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi! Haven't written for GW fandom in aaaaages, but I've been having the itch lately, thanks to TB, Bikko and Shi-chan. So, okay, here goes. Not precisely sure where I'm going with this, I just know I want to write a Preventors fic that deals with the early stages. But I also wanted to start with the history, so we have an idea where Heero and Duo stand with each other. This is not a one-shot, though it might be able to stand alone as one. Chapter one jumps a few years into the future. Hope you enjoy the nostalgia, I know I did.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

**Prologue**

I almost forgot. You're as far from normal as they come.

I almost forgot.

The battle ended more quickly than Heero had thought it would, hoped it would. He wasn't even out of breath. The ZERO system hummed around him, placated and patient. Heero did a quick count and found one of them missing.

"Where's Duo?"

"_I'm here_." Duo's voice came over the intercom, gruff and strained, like it usually was after a battle. Duo had a habit of screaming obscenities at the enemy, made it hoarse. Even so, Heero thought it sounded different, lacking the exhilaration, the elation of victory.

Of course, there wasn't much to celebrate. Even Duo wasn't that blind. None of these units sent after _Peacemillion_ were really meant to do anything. Heero was sure Zechs and Quinze were viewing the _Peacemillion_ and its inhabitants as a threat, but it was only a matter of time before Treize came to space. Zechs Marquise had bigger fish to fry. And Duo could manage to crack a smile in the face of that anyway, without making it funny he would laugh. It was his way.

But, no. Duo was not somber because of the galaxy's political chaos. No, of course not. The galaxy could implode tomorrow and Deathscythe's pilot would probably find some part of it ironic enough to snicker at. No. Deathscythe was carrying an injured Taurus, the pieces brackish and breaking off in sparking bits, floating away into the void. Heero acted instinctually, even against Quatre's small sound of protest, a fizzle of noise over his radio.

"_Get the hell out of my way, Heero_." Quiet tone, low, deadly. Heero should have known better. Perhaps the battle had strained his nerves worse than he thought. ZERO had a habit of making him seem more invincible than he really was.

"That's an enemy suit," Heero said, pointing out the obvious, knowing it too. Wing paused, hovering squarely between Deathscythe and _Peacemillion_. Heero's left screen flickered, showing him Duo Maxwell in all his wide-eyed, furious glory.

"_I wouldn't be carrying it back to base if there was an enemy pilot inside of it, asshole!_" Duo spat, something wild in his eyes. "_She's injured, let me through!_"

Quatre's voice crackled over the com. "_She's been hailing us, Heero. Duo knew her, went to get her. She came from _Libra_, they sent the unit out after her, I think_."

"You think," Heero echoed, but he was already moving. He could feel Duo's glare hot on his screen. He worked the controls of Wing without looking up at him. "Fine."

You're as far from normal as they come.

As far from normal...

The girl was young. Young like them, but somehow it felt wrong, worse, like she was more vulnerable because she wasn't _supposed_ to be a part of this. For whatever odd reason, she chose in. She chose in because of Duo. Quatre whispered to him, as they took the iron rail down to where Sally Po was leading a team of medics to the hanger floor, where Duo was already out of his Gundam and dragging the girl out of her destroyed mobile suit, Quatre whispered that it was a girl Duo was living with on L2, when White Fang was still looking for a face for PR. They'd asked Duo, of course, because who could represent the colonies better than the Gundam Pilot from L2? But they got stuck with the Peacecraft Earther that had a vendetta against, well, everyone.

Somehow, that might've been funny. Except even Duo stopped laughing when Zechs fired on the planet. Even Duo, stubborn colonist, loudmouthed Spacer that he was, wanted nothing more than to all out attack _Libra_, squash White Fang before OZ showed up to avenge _Barge_. Then, whoever managed to survive _Libra_ would attack OZ. Duo wasn't thinking about surviving, he was thinking about numbers. Statistics. Quatre and Trowa were hung up on right and wrong. Wufei was struggling with honor, per usual. The girl was an unexpected anomaly.

Short, cropped black hair, pretty, even as the bruises began to form and the swelling made the blood on her face seem brighter than it ought to. Hilde, Quatre said her name was. Hilde. Infiltrated _Libra_, had information for Duo about _Libra_.

Duo laid her on the ground, handling her gingerly like she might shatter. Heero watched her smile weakly up at him, hand him something, a disk spattered with blood. He took it, making it disappear into his jacket. Slight of hand, Duo did it like Heero breathed. Then Sally was there, ordering another medic to pull Duo away. He struggled, throwing the man off of him, back at Hilde's side. She said something to him, he tilted his head to hear. Heero and Quatre were there, then, taking each of Duo's arms and hauling him away so Sally could do her work.

Duo didn't fight them, though a storm grew on his face, his eyes darker than Heero had ever seen them. "Stupid fool," Duo muttered. "Stupid idiot."

Duo shook them off as Trowa and Wufei approached and stormed away, out of the hangar. Heero looked at them not looking at him. Finally, Trowa braved a glance at him. Heero felt like he wasn't understanding something again. That happened a lot, whenever he happened to be around Duo and one of his random, spit-fire temper tantrums. Thankfully, Heero wasn't around Duo very often. More often lately, because they all happened to be on the same battleship.

"We all should go," Quatre suggested quietly. They went.

I almost forgot. You're as far from normal...

I almost forgot.

Heero, you wanna play?

Duo didn't go far. He was just outside the hangar, in the bleach-white halls, staring out one of the massive, plexi-windows. The great void of space stared back at him, as glum as the look in his eyes.

So, she was a friend. Duo did not like it when friends got hurt. Heero could admit to the feeling of her being a person that should definitely not be in this war, fighting this fight. Heero understood that, knowing an innocent was going out of their way to get themselves injured on some fool's errand to--

"She'll be fine, Duo." Quatre. He usually knew what to say.

"She shouldn't be here at all." Duo's voice seemed like it was from far away, absorbed by the plexi instead of bouncing off it. He turned, looking squarely at Heero. He was daring him, daring Heero to ask for the disc, to cheapen his friend's sacrifice by getting right down to business. Heero lifted his chin and refused to take the bait. Duo turned then to Wufei, whose frown was disapproving, but silently so. Trowa didn't even look at him. Quatre placed a hand on his shoulder.

The hangar opened and Sally's team, swarmed around the lift carrying Hilde's sleeping form, rushed by. Duo's glare crumpled, watching them pass, going wide-eyed again. It was odd how he did that, positively morphing his face for the sake of expression. Duo took a step forward and Sally lifted her hand, halting the escort and telling Duo to make it quick. Duo reached out to touch her hand, but decided not to at the last minute. He shook his head at Sally, a faint movement but enough to relay the message. With a curt nod, she ushered her team forward again, leaving the five pilots alone in the hallway once again. Heero leant against the plexi, his back against the abysm of space, watching.

"Hey, Heero."

Eh, Heero, you wanna play?

I almost forgot.

Relena. Relena's on Libra. Duo's voice formed the words, but somehow Heero felt them like blows, instead of the sentences they were. Hilde met her, spoke to her there. Relena's on Libra. Stupid fool. Stupid idiot.

Heero looked up, saw Duo's expression. Duo was clever, he knew exactly what to say. Maybe it was revenge for attempting to blockade him from getting back to _Peacemillion_. Maybe it was a lesson--Duo was fond of those, like he had made it his personal mission to make Heero a human. Whatever it was, it wasn't nice. Duo telling him, like that, at this moment, it wasn't nice. He didn't know everything about Duo Maxwell, but he knew that much.

Heero knew enough to be aware of the survivor's guilt. Duo seemed awfully young to have a heavy case of it, but anyone in Duo's presence longer than twenty minutes saw the blackness behind his grin. They all respected him for not allowing it to affect his judgment, not control his emotions and make him reckless. One only had to be around Duo for twenty minutes to see the blackness, but to know why it was there took a decent amount of research. Feddies managed to screw Duo since he could walk, and Duo managed to be at the heart, and the sole survivor, of every calamity wrought on L2 since the Alliance decided to play God. Government-induced plagues, massacres, criminal warfare--got to the point even the Sweepers had to leave. If it's too much for a Sweeper, it's too much for anyone. That's how Duo got off-colony. Stowed-away with the Sweepers until G decided he needed a kid-pilot with a vendetta.

Duo was walking past him, towards the inner-ship. Maybe to mess, maybe to barracks, Heero didn't know. Heero snagged his wrist, met the big amethyst eyes. He pressed with two fingers, saying he understood. Duo nodded, his mouth a grim line. Quatre was looking at him curiously. Trowa was already bored. Wufei was trying to ignore it. Whatever they thought, it wasn't true. It wasn't true. Not yet.

I almost forgot.

You're as far from normal as they come.

Duo told him ZERO showed him hundreds of copies of himself; nearly drove him mad. Duo said maybe ZERO thought he was his own worst enemy. Maybe that was true. Maybe that was true for everyone. It was certainly true for Zechs, and Treize, and definitely Relena, who couldn't keep her nose out of anything.

Wufei had been purposely ambiguous about his experience inside ZERO, but suddenly decided he wanted to fight with the rest of them. ZERO gave Trowa his memory back. Quatre was the only other one of them, of the five, that could handle ZERO; but he was too petrified of it to use it anymore. Heero could understand that, a little. ZERO had caused him to blow up a colony, after all.

For his part, Heero tried not to think of what ZERO showed him outside of the cockpit. Just like he tried not to think of Duo Maxwell when Duo Maxwell wasn't around. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. It was damned impossible when he _was_ around, though.

Duo didn't pester, not really. He really didn't. Tried to kill him once, when they first met. Saved his life. Became violently ill while watching him set his leg. Wouldn't speak to him for months after Heero stole his parts--not that Heero tried. Moon Base was strange though. Seeing him again there, seeing him battered and bloody and brave, strange. Moving. Enough to hesitate, enough to save him instead of kill him. After that, Duo didn't pester. Pestered Quatre and Trowa more. Laughed at Wufei. With Heero, Duo merely afforded cordial efforts at conversation. Heero noticed the effort, the distance, the reservation. Heero wasn't so sure if it was respect. Pretty sure it was something else.

Duo was in his room. He'd missed dinner. Heero wasn't going to wait around in mess for him to show up. He needed to verify if Relena was on Libra. He didn't have that sort of time, not now, not to play cat and mouse with Duo Maxwell. Heero walked in, coming up short just inside the door, waiting for it to swoosh closed again. Duo had his jacket around his waist, a white tee hanging around his skinny frame. He spat toothpaste and foam into the sink, hands holding back his hair as he did so. He rinsed his mouth, his toothbrush, met Heero's eyes in the reflection.

"Just burning to get your hands on that disc, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure why you're withholding it from us," Heero replied. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded flat and uninterested.

Duo rinsed his mouth again and wiped it on a towel. "Fought some suits today. The ones you and Trowa helped simulate."

"You fought the Vayeate and the Mercurius." Heero leaned back against the closed door, crossed his arms. "And you're back in one piece."

"Impressed?" Duo turned, a strange half-smile hovering at the corner of his lips, his eyes dark and glittering. He was still angry, then.

"Not really." Heero watched Duo's face darken. "You were piloting your Gundam. Shouldn't have been very difficult for you."

"Plus I had incentive," Duo said, implicating Hilde.

"Plus you had incentive," Heero echoed. His nerves were frayed, both their nerves were frayed. Duo had personally fought a battle every seven hours for the past six days. He was tired, they all were. Every single one of them. Duo had to watch his friend bleed. Heero wondered what it would feel like if he had to see Relena get hurt. She was a fool, but an idealistic, politically savvy fool. Heero believed in her. She needed to survive this.

Duo's hand slipped under his waist band, under the jacket tied around his hips. Heero's eyes followed the movement. Duo produced the disk, sill dotted with Hilde's blood. Duo's voice was very quiet. "You came for this."

Heero crossed the room. Duo watched him with a heavy-lidded expression. Heero stopped in front of him, toe to toe. He reached for the disc and Duo let it fall from his hands without a struggle. Heero lowered his arm, close enough to feel Duo's breath on his cheek, and placed the disc on the sink. His other hand settled on Duo's waist. He was hot, hotter than Heero expected. All heat and clothes and hair. That ridiculous hair that floated in low gravity like a scorpion's tail waiting to strike. Duo's body was thin, bony, like the rest of them, but on Duo the slightness seemed almost tragic. Like the black haired girl that was bleeding, the girl who didn't belong here, the reason Duo was so angry. Tragic, because at some point after all the crap that had been piled on their colony, someone should have stood up for them. And since no one did, Duo appeared, with his angry eyes, smart mouth and trigger-happy fingers sending a bullet through his leg to protect a girl just about as obnoxious as he was. Duo didn't even know her, but he wanted to protect her. Duo was like that, always standing up for someone. It was absurd, seeing him stare down a bully, knowing behind the gundanium he was all knees and elbows, like the rest of them, but absurd because it worked. Duo would be anyone he had to be to make things right. Heero didn't think things would ever be right, but he wasn't about to tell Duo that.

Duo's eyes were brighter now, feverish and indigo. Heero had never seen eye color like that before Duo. He looked ageless with eyes like that, frightening almost. Unearthly, but more than a Spacer; something of the phantom Duo claimed to be inside of Deathscythe. Heero licked his lips. "Tell me now if you want me to stop."

Duo didn't speak, didn't move; he watched him warily enough for his own sense of self-preservation to get its due, the rest of him was heavy-lidded and smirking. Heero ghosted his lips over Duo's, just barely touching. His muscles quivered as he pressed against Duo, as he dipped his fingers beneath the hem of Duo's shirt and splayed them against the flesh of his stomach. Heero lifted his gaze, coming out of the sudden rush, the abrupt heat spiraling through him, really looked at Duo. He didn't seem to be going anywhere. Duo's half-smile glinted in the dim light, teeth every bit as sharp as they looked and whiter than a kid from L2 had rights to, gleaming, feral.

Duo's mouth was hot on his when he finally began to respond, when he wasn't afraid to anymore. Hungry, tongues wet and gliding. Duo cursed at him foully for tearing his jacket in Heero's haste to get it off. Heero kissed him to shut him up. It might have been awkward, if it were with anyone else. All gangly, fifteen year old limbs and toothy kisses. But Duo was better than that. Duo was always better than that. Encouraging, patient, smirking and laughing, moaning at all the right moments. Made Heero feel like a god, with Duo's legs wrapped around him, his name an unholy chant on his lips, equal parts obscene and tender. Fingernails grinding flesh, drawing blood, causing bruises. Wonderful. Necessary. And explosion of catharsis, just when things were getting a little too out of control. Their nerves were bad, all of them. Frayed, on edge. Duo would walk away smiling. Heero would have something to take with him into hell. It might be enough. Might be worth it.

Neither of them ever expected to live long enough to regret it.

I almost forgot.

Almost.

Never wanted normal anyway.


	2. Lack of a Better Idea

**Title**: Prerequisite  
**Chapter Title**: Lack of a Better Idea  
**Summary**: And Duo deflated. His breath left him in a rush, shoulders slumping forward. Hate crime. Made what he was seem like nothing more than a slur. Gundam pilot. Started with his yard suffering for it, bad for business. Then it got worse.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: In the prologue, I intend to rely heavily on events occurring during episodes forty-five through forty-eight.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi! I managed to keep this one a lot shorter than I thought I'd be able to. I've scattered the very teensiest bits of the beginnings of a plot here. I like where I ended it, because in my head it plays out as sort of funny. As soon as my muse slaps me again, I'll have a new update. Thanks for reading!

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter One

**Lack of a Better Idea**

A.C. 203

The brick managed to shatter not only the window it was hurled through, but the pane above it as well. Duo sat up sharply, his boots slamming on the cement floor so hard it shot trails of pain up his ankles. Splintered glass showered his desk, skipping across the organized chaos of paperwork, hard evidence of Maxwell Scrap's slow drain down the tube. Another crash, from a window in Hilde's old office. And then another, a fourth, a fifth.

Duo crossed his office with quick, sure-footed strides, refusing to panic, even when the fire-lit glass bottles of propane followed the hail of bricks. Duo inhaled a deep lungful and held it. He opened his file cabinet, grabbed his pension documents, his lease to the yard, and the two only other documents he owned that had his name typed on them, and stuffed it all into a backpack. He grabbed his jacket, the reek of propane and melting rubber invading the room right on the heels of the thick smoke, and stuffed his braid under the collar. Next came his cap, as cozy as the comfort blanket Duo used it for, hiding his face under the tattered, black brim. He crouched in the corner, the seam of his shirt collar held up to his mouth and nose with one hand, and waited for the smoke to fill the room. There was an explosion, Duo felt the whole structure shudder from the impact, what was left of his windows shattering and beating Duo with glinting shards. Fire must have gotten too close to the tyres. There was shouting, panicked screams. Idiots. This whole acre would be a plume of black smoke within minutes. Duo waited until his eyes watered and the smoke began to aggravate his throat. Then he moved, using blackness for cover, keep the clean air trapped in his lungs.

Quick, slinking, utterly silent. He wouldn't retaliate. He knew they were just civilians. Angry ones, misled and protective of a generation that disdained them. Down the hall, utilizing ingrained memory to lead the way, past Hilde's old office, paperwork ablaze and beating him with roiling heat. The broom closet had a small window; it led to the shipping containers, not yet on fire. He slipped inside, teetered dangerously on boxes filled with cleaning chemical, and wriggled his way through the tiny window. He twisted, flinging his backpack up and over the roof, and grabbed the ledge with the tips of his fingers. Two fingernails bent backwards as he hauled himself up. He registered the pain, but had learned a long time ago how to do so silently. Duo let out his breath explosively and sucked in another lungful, this air cleaner but just barely. He slipped only once on the tile, but once he gained footing, he was sprinting, hell for leather, grabbing his backpack on the way and launching himself onto the nearest shipping container. The yellow metal was sooty, days of grime mixing with oily, black smoke causing it to be treacherous and slippery. He jumped to the next one, staying low, staying fast. He made a quick left, rolling down the edge, and dropped to a crouch on the ground. He uncoiled like a spring, jumping onto the chain linked fence, clambering up and somersaulting to the other side.

Duo ran towards uptown, his muscles only feeling the strain when he sighted the business district. Sirens wailed, the smoke from his yard sighted by now, or maybe someone called it in--or hell, maybe the fire got out of control and the neighbors didn't want it burning down their shops too. Duo did his very best not smile vindictively.

The air filters groaned over head, compensating for the plume at his back, sucking in the toxic smoke and channeling it out to space. The entire colony seemed to shudder as vents shifted, concentrated on the breach. Duo knew it would take at least forty fire fighters to get the blaze under control, and uppers would be cleaning the soot from ceiling slates for days. Really, they could have just asked him to leave. They could have just _asked_ him.

He reached the shuttleport out of breath and sweating. He must have looked awful, the stares he was getting were blatantly curious to the point of rude. He smiled back at them, scratching at his face as he ordered his fare, his fingers coming back blackened with ash. The cashier attendant pointed out that he was bleeding, right before security caught up with him, taking him aside for questioning.

Duo took off his cap and pulled out his braid. Both men sucked in sharp breaths, recognition lighting in their eyes. "We all knew this was going to happen sooner or later," Duo told them, his voice not nearly as nonchalant as he wanted it to be. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to get off-colony."

Their walkie talkies screamed at them, news about the structure fire quick to spread. There were regulations, rules about this sort of thing. And certainly allowing a man in Duo's state to waltz onto a shuttle was begging for a demotion. But even if these guys were security, they were also L2 born and bred. Being so, they knew Duo. _Knew_ him. Knew him and all the rumors of dissent that were circulating midtown about Maxwell Scrap and the teenagers that loitered there. Whatever they thought, they didn't say. Whatever they thought, it didn't matter. They let him go.

Duo took the first shuttle to L4.

~*~

The Winner Enterprise took up a decent third of L4. No, seriously, a _third_. Most of uptown, quite a bit of midtown. Even down-colony had a charity structure or two with a Winner plaque on it. The Winner's did not precisely own L4, not like that all. But they definitely paid for a good percentage of it when the colony was first being built two hundred years ago, when Earth was searching franticly for an entrepreneur to pay off some of the debt. Winners were good for that, Changs too--but they had their sights set on L5 even before the project was finished. Two hundred years later, the Changs were all but dead, feeling righteous enough about what they felt they could or could not do with their colony, and the Winners had backed off from entrepreneurs to financiers, to builders and architects. Build, sell; build, sell. Quatre was very touchy about the subject; he hated having people think he owned them because his name was on the real estate. These days, Quatre gave away more than he profited, it bothered him so much. Or maybe he was just still holding an unhealthy amount of guilt over his dad...and that colony he blew. Quatre was good for that, agonizing.

The Winner Estate on L4, _however_, was positioned on the back edges of midtown on a four acre lot, downsized considerably since Quatre inherited his father's company. The houses on Earth were bigger, much bigger, as Duo recalled, but since Quatre spent most of his time in space these days, he's left his sisters to run the houses dirt side to their heart's content.

Even with the downsizing and the agonizing and the charitable pine for humility, the estate's gate was this absurdly massive bleached stone, white marble, gilded _thing_ with a calligraphic 'W' that split down the middle when opened. Whoever answered the intercom was snooty--at least until Masif replaced him and recognized Duo through the vid. The gate swung open, quiet as mouse, thank you very much, and Duo began the short walk through the imported lawn and up to the front door. That, too, swung open for him, another monster of gold and marble, and Duo was only three steps into the foyer before he was launched upon.

Quatre stepped back quickly when Duo didn't respond immediately, face all strained with concern, bottom lip disappearing between perfect white teeth. "Duo! You--"

Duo held up one hand, still grimy from the attack on his yard, even though he'd been able to wash up somewhat on the shuttle here. "I'm okay, Quat. Just need a bed for right now. You don't mind, do you? We can talk when I'm not grumpy."

"No, no; not at all." Quatre glanced down at himself, frowning a bit at the stain of soot that had smudged off of Duo and onto his black-stitched cream blazer--an article of clothing that probably cost more than Duo's dental plan. "You must be hungry. Surely. I'll send a tray up for you. Come on, this way. Don't mind that--" Quatre said, following Duo's gaze to the side of room, where a large plastic sheet hung from ceiling to floor. Behind it came the tell-tale sounds of construction. The hiss and grumble of mechanical tools, forced air and chainsaws. What Duo could see of the foyer was an odd mix of black on white furniture, walls, and appliances, highlighted here and there was something garishly red. The rest of the room, Duo noted, as it opened up to the hall with the wide staircase, was a riot of colors. Champagne walls with hanging tapestries of deep burgundy and tawny gold, straw mats over old oak floors imported from Earth centuries ago, and palm trees in large pots of blue and white ceramic.

"Renovating?"

Quatre sighed, leading the way up the staircase. "Yasmine got it in her head that a smaller home necessitates a more modern interior design. I don't keep her on a very tight leash, even if Hani thinks I should. It's harmless, and it gives her something to do. She says she's trying to build her portfolio. Here we are. Listen." Quatre paused outside of a large double door down at the end of the hall. They were very close to the front of the house, and Duo wondered idly if Quatre chose that room on purpose; giving Duo easy access to the door should he need to take flight, instead of rampaging through half the mansion. "It's easy to get lost in this house; this is the only hallway we have on the estate. Every room opens into the other--so if you do get wander-lust and can't work your way back, my staff is very friendly and--"

"I get it, Quat. Thanks."

"Okay." Quatre smiled up at him, not like he used to, but the new smile he wore more frequently. Hard mouthed, barely a muscle twitching in his face. His eyes were still concerned, but there was a shadow to them. "I'm-I'm very busy today. I won't be back to the estate until tonight, but Trowa should be back around dinnertime, if you want company. I'll phone him, tell him you're here."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's really no trouble." His smile was more sincere, this time. "You're never trouble, Duo; not here. You're always welcome."

"Thank you, Quat. I mean that. I promise, we'll talk later."

Quatre released him then and Duo went inside the room. The drapes were pulled, so the chamber was dark. Duo dropped his backpack; dizzy with the exhaustion he hoped didn't show on his face when he talked to Quatre. He shucked his shoes on the way to the four-poster bed, pushed off all the pillows except for the softest one, crawled beneath the duvet, and promptly fell asleep.

~*~

Trowa was sitting beside him when he woke, oddly upside down. Duo rolled onto his stomach, grinding the palm of his hand into his eye. The lamp was on; Trowa was using it to read. Or had been. He was eyeing Duo over the brim of the book now. An easel was situated a few feet away, a covered, pewter tray on top of it. Must be dinner. Smelled like dinner. Duo sat up Indian style, his hands in his lap, blinking tiredly at nothing until Trowa cleared his throat.

"Yasmine's going to kill you for destroying those sheets."

Duo looked over his shoulder, eyeing the mess he'd made wearing his dirty clothes to bed. "I'm sure she can afford new ones." He felt hot, stuffy. He shrugged off his jacket, wincing at the pain the motion produced. Duo gritted his teeth, and unzipped his jumpsuit, pulled off the sleeves, let it pool around his waist. The tee shirt underneath was damp, but cool now that air was getting to it. Duo breathed in deeply and let it out, closing his eyes and resting his face in his hands. Wasn't quite the despairing movement it looked; though, by rights, Duo could be distraught and get away with it.

"You should shower so I can dress the wounds," Trowa said quietly. Trowa had two voices. One was quiet, one was quietly mocking. Duo guessed he earned nice Trowa today.

"Why you?"

"Because Quatre's still working and you won't let anyone else touch you."

Duo ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling grit there too. He rose without talking and went into the bathroom. It never occurred to him to close the door as he bent over to start the water and then kicked off the rest of his jumpsuit. His tee was off before Trowa did it for him, pulling it shut so he could have some privacy. The effort made him pause, but not because it was an odd thing for Trowa to do--even though it was--but more so because Duo honestly hadn't thought of it. He hadn't needed to close his bathroom door since Hilde left, and that was two years ago.

The shower stung, but he felt better afterwards. His neck hurt from his heavy, waterlogged braid even before he made it out again, dressed only in a fluffy towel robe folded neatly in one corner. There were clothes waiting for him where Trowa had sat by the bed, folded neatly. Black slacks, black shirt, hell, even black underwear. His mood lightened as he dressed, amused by the silent joke. Corned beef and cabbage was under the pewter lid, and Duo ate all the cabbage by the time Trowa returned. He carried a small satchel, a bowl of steaming water and two towels, which he placed in no certain order on the nightstand. Duo helped him pull the dirty sheets off the bed and replace the soft pillow for a cleaner one Duo tossed on the floor that morning. Then he sat and tried not to make a sound as Trowa pried bits of metal and glass from his shoulder, his forearm, the back of his calf. Trowa cleaned the gash on the side of Duo's face, wrapped the fingers missing fingernails, and threw the bloody cotton swabs in the trash when he was finished.

"Thanks, mom."

"You don't have to be sarcastic," Trowa retorted, quiet as ever, tone just below normal. He closed up the satchel and set in on the floor, handed Duo a glass of water. He said: "You tried."

"Yeah. Yeah, I tried." Tried and failed.

"Hilde called."

Duo looked up for that, unable to smother the smile that quirked at her name. "Did she? How's she doing?"

"Worried about you, I gather." Mocking quiet now, dry as a bone and reproachful. Trowa ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the regular fall over one eye. For a second, Duo was able to see both, gaze as subdued as his voice. They flickered, met Duo's. "She predicted you'd be here, that you'd come to Quatre."

"She's a smart girl. She knows me." There wasn't any weight to it; there wasn't any weight to it because they weren't really talking about Hilde. They were talking about the trouble Duo was in and the fact he brought it to Quatre's doorstep. Duo was breaching territory. Story of his life. "I'll leave. Say the word, Trowa."

Trowa lowered his gaze first, his thumbnail scratching idly at the inner skin of his wrist. "There will be an investigation. They'll want to question you."

Duo became angry, a surge of heat in his chest. "For fucking why? Should be pretty fucking obvious it was a--a..."

Trowa looked up, lifted a brow. "Hate crime?"

And Duo deflated. His breath left him in a rush, shoulders slumping forward. Hate crime. Made what he was seem like nothing more than a slur. Gundam pilot. Started with his yard suffering for it, bad for business. Then it got worse.

Duo had the misfortune of having his face branded on every colonist in the L2 cluster's memory. They saw him and thought GUNDAM in glaring fucking letters. Publicity like that didn't really make for good blue collar work. Even if they didn't mind the fact he used to pilot a gundam, they didn't want trouble. Even if they thought he was a hero, they didn't want to stir anything up by going to pay for a few bits of sheet metal, branding themselves as a gundam-lover to the whole neighborhood.

Duo knew that was the biggest part of it. Started with White Fang, picking up the pieces of Operation Meteor, mortifying the whole of space by firing on Mother Earth. Mariemaia came next, another dark scar on the colonists. Now they had to keep their chins tucked in, their heads down, because if anybody started talking about it, making sides known, everything would go to shit all over again. And Duo had gone and got himself caught by OZ, and the bastards publicized the capture, videoed him being dragged out of Deathscythe, his Gundam's destruction, everything. Eight years ago, that happened. Eight entire fucking years, but it didn't matter. He could never undo that, never outlive it. They all knew who he was.

The older ones were willing to let it be. They remembered the war, lived it, suffered it; they saw what Duo was trying to do. Make nice, play civilian. Live. Maybe they even respected him for it. The younger generation thought different. A weird phase of hero-worship sprang up in the new age bracket, teenagers knocking on his door, asking him to support their gang, be their PR, their anthem. Duo told them to fuck off--eight years wasn't long enough to forget White Fang had pulled the same exact bullshit before snagging their precious Peacecraft and then blowing a boil into the Earth's crust. Kids don't remember that kind of thing, and while Duo was fairly certain that wasn't where they were going with it, he didn't want to encourage any resemblance of it either.

Parents got the wrong idea. Neighborhood somehow became convinced Maxwell Scrap was funding teenage gangs, inspiring a new uprising. And L2 didn't harbor the sort of populace who would sit back and let something happen that they didn't want to, even if it wasn't true.

"It wasn't true," Duo whispered, hating himself because he knew he sounded pathetic. "It wasn't true, what they thought."

Trowa waited until Duo looked at him. "I know that, Duo. You're as honest as they come."

Quatre came in then and, weirdly, Trowa stood and left, closing the door held out for him without so much as a glance in Quatre's direction. Quatre seemed unfazed by it, though the whole thing made the tiny hairs on Duo's neck stand on end. Duo tried to answer Quatre's wan smile, but didn't feel right about it, so he let it drop.

Quatre sat on the edge of the bed, next to Duo, close enough he could smell his cologne, see the golden five-o'-clock shadow on his jaw. Quatre wore his hair swept away from his face, now, instead of the messy bangs that made him look every bit the runaway schoolboy he was when they were fifteen. Now, he looked every bit the polished CEO he was at twenty-three. Quatre folded his hands in his lap. "You can stay as long as you like, Duo." He looked up at Duo, blue eyes still big on his face but not so overwhelming, even darker than they had been earlier that day. "You know that, don't you? As long as you need. I mean that."

"I believe you, Quat." Duo slung an arm over Quatre's shoulders, noting how they stiffened before they relaxed, like Quatre actually had to think about letting Duo embrace him. They didn't used to be so distant. But eight years is a long time. "I won't stay long enough to wear out my welcome."

Bottom lip disappeared between white teeth; Quatre had developed a habit of chewing on himself. That was new as well. "It makes me happy to see you. Truly. Even if the circumstances are rather--"

Duo squeezed Quatre's shoulders, dropped a kiss on his head, grinned a little at how Quatre turned red and dropped his eyes. "It's cool. Probably looks worse than it is."

"They shouldn't have done that to you."

"Yeah, and bees can't fly. Really, it'll blow over in a month."

Quatre looked up at him again, expression almost earnest, almost youthful, almost like it should be. "Will you go back to L2?"

Duo returned his gaze levelly. "No, Quat. No, I won't."

~*~

Wufei's visit was surprising.

Wasn't really a best wishes visit, and Wufei made that pretty clear right off the bat.

Quatre and Duo were eating breakfast on the deck when he showed up, unannounced, as things happen, but unorthodox enough to startle the Winner heir. He was pushing back his chair with a screech and jumping to his feet before Duo even realized something was different--but the look on Quatre's face was enough to cause Duo to reach for the gun he didn't have on his hip, compulsory, futile. A little absurd.

But then, Duo was always good for being a little absurd.

"Wufei!" Quatre exclaimed, wiping his mouth with a napkin and coming around the table swiftly to greet him.

Seeing who it was, Duo relaxed back into his seat, watching in amusement as Quatre and Wufei did that dance, the whole hesitation game, where they weren't sure whether to hug or merely shake hands. Some of them became close, during and after the war, even though the only thing they all had in common was what they piloted, and that eighty percent of the time they weren't all that sure who the hell they were supposed to be fighting, and ended up fighting each other just to kill time. But a history of Gundams wasn't enough to keep all five of them together, or even in contact, for the most part. Wufei, always one to do his own thing, had joined the Preventers seven years ago, and no one had heard from or seen Heero Yuy since he scorched a hole in Brussels' Presidential Palace.

In fact...it might have been seven years since he'd seen Wufei in person, having only caught brief glimpses of him on the international news in the past handful of years. He looked good, Duo thought, biting into a crepe. He flicked crumbs off his chin as he chewed, rising to his feet but remaining by the table.

Good, yes, and taller. Must have hit a growth spurt; television didn't give the guy justice. Leaner and stiff--but then Wufei had always been a bit stiff. He was dressed to the nines in a crisp Preventers officer uniform, dark navy blue with pale green lapels. Heavy on the bars, lots of stripes; Wufei's done well for himself, it seemed, in the Preventers. Expected, surely, as Wufei joined them not nine months after the ESUN signed the charter giving them jurisdiction and funding. Basically had been there since they cut the umbilical, courtesy of Sally Po's graciousness.

"It's good to see you, Quatre," Wufei was saying. Halting, but sincere. They decided on a hug, which Wufei bore with surprising grace, meeting Duo's gaze with black eyes.

"Ah." Duo swallowed his mouthful and grabbed his jacket. "Time to go."

Wufei made to grab his arm as Duo moved past them, but Duo nimbly maneuvered just out of reach. Quatre said something in protest, but Wufei overrode him. "I'm not here about Maxwell Scrap, Duo. Just give me five minutes."

Duo turned, lifting his arm and tapping his watch-less wrist. "Alright, go."

Wufei cast a single apologetic glance toward Quatre, who was an expert at pointed looks and went into the house. Then Wufei jumped in.

"Preventers want you to enlist."

Duo shook his head. "Said no seven years ago, Wu; a little structure fire isn't going to change my mind."

"They attacked you; we can provide immunity, protection, a full, publicized pardon."

"Relena already did that, again, _eight _years ago." Duo crossed his arms, made a point of looking at his wrist. "Worked marvelously already, from where I'm standing."

Wufei took a step forward, hands palm out in a non-threatening gesture. "It's a job, Duo, work; utilizing skills you've had since before the war, honed during the war. You'd skip all the training, all the bullshit. Do not pass go, Duo; don't be stupid. Take the offer."

"Again, all the same shit that sugared the _offer_ seven years ago, Wufei. I'm perfectly capable and willing to wait until this blows over. Then I'll start again. Don't make a big deal out of nothing."

Wufei dropped his arms, fingers twitching like they wanted to curl into fists, and Wufei was taking a great effort not to do just that. His face was still, immobile like Quatre's got whenever Trowa happened to pass through the room. "Not everybody hates the Gundams, what they stood for, us--you know that as well as I do. But there are just enough people still dissenting over the fact that none of the five of us ever had to stand trial for what we did to make your life miserable as long as you're able to keep dodging incidents like Maxwell Scrap--and only because you're the only face they recognize, the only name they know. You catch the heat for all of us."

Duo scoffed, even though it was true. However, being true didn't make a thing any less absurd. That being said, scoffing at a zealot's beliefs didn't make them any less fervent, any less dangerous. "I can live off my pension. I'll go underground."

"Technicality, Maxwell." Last names, now. Wufei was beginning to loose his temper. "You were never good at technicalities, especially when they apply to you. You'll lose your mind out of boredom. At Preventers, I can personally guarantee a challenging atmosphere. You'll feel more like yourself. You can't tell me you don't miss that."

Ah. No. No, Duo definitely couldn't say that he didn't miss it, because it would be a lie. And Duo Maxwell did not lie. "Not enough, Wu. Nostalgia was _your _motivating factor, not mine."

Rigid, now, spine ramrod straight. Wufei's lip curled, contempt covering the aggravation he really felt. Duo knew him well enough to know that. People change, but people don't change _that_ much. "You're a fool, Maxwell. You're a fool not to take the offer."

Duo licked his lips, tasting a bit of crepe that was caught in the corner of his mouth. "Time's up, Wufei."

~*~

"Johnny! Turn that up!"

"Fuck you, Bill. No one wants to listen to the news."

Johnny turned it up anyway. Duo made a special effort to tune it out. He'd been getting better and better about that, lately. He swallowed the rest of his beer, the sour tang twisting flavor on the tip of his tongue. His stomach felt full from drinking so much, but he was barely buzzed. Stupid, fucking genetic tinkering; goddamn scientist who absolutely refused to let the street rat into his precious Gundam without a few mandatory 'precautions'. Hell of a lot of good that did him in the end, except for making his bar tab absurdly high eight years in the running. Time for something stronger.

Duo wiggled his empty glass at Johnny, a burly man with hair everywhere on his body except his head. Johnny flicked a damp towel over his shoulder, arching a thick brow. An interesting scar cut through that eyebrow, more hair missing where it divided it; interesting only because that was the sort of scar that had a story behind it. Duo learned a long time ago not to inquire about those stories. Sometimes they led to bitter truths that put Duo on the wrong end of some stranger's anger.

"'Nother one?"

"Nah. Something else. What do you have on whiskey?"

The barkeep rattled off brands, his face beginning with pride as he listed the more expensive stuff, and ending in a wary glower as Duo waited patiently until he got to the cheaper liquor. Just to see the look on his face, Duo ordered a double of the first, earning a startled grin and snappy service. The dark liquid burned like fury in his mouth, warm and punishing, but went down smooth. Duo finished it in two swallows and ordered another.

The bar was one of those hole-in-the-wall misfit lounges that harbored locals who didn't want to be bothered with the crowds of the bigger joints down the strip. Dimly lit, old rock jams humming from a juke in the corner, a regular cycle of tunes barely a drone in the background, wood tables with plastic mats, visibly worn but clean. Type of place an owner took pride in, even if pride alone wouldn't get him the business he needed to take that vacation he's wanted since he was thirty. Duo liked it, even despite his surly mood. Reminded him of the kind of bar he'd been a regular of on L2, before his scrap yard went to shit and Hilde ran off with that guy Duo had made the mistake of introducing her to. Nice guy, Dean. Idealistic, earnest, complete, utter moron. Had the nerve to look at Duo with pity because he was the poster-child of out-of-place ex-soldier, verging on malcontent.

I'd like you to be there, Hilde said. Really. Be his best man.

Hilde was smart, Duo had to give her that. Hilde knew the numbers, was willing to face the music even before Duo--and Duo was never shy about reality. Yard was going under. Now it was ash.

Duo sighed, resting his forehead on one palm, staring at the dark whiskey in his glass, the overpowering waft of alcohol sliding past his nostrils, down the back of his throat. His thoughts shifted to Quatre, his few short weeks at the Winner Estate on L4. He hadn't bothered with goodbyes, once he decided he would wear out his welcome if he stayed any longer. Once he decided he was going to Earth. It was good to see him, both of them; even Wufei, who managed to mellow out enough to hold a decent conversation. Quatre seemed tired, strained to his limit, but smiled wanly throughout it all. The Winner Enterprise was more than a business to Quatre, more than money, it was a family. Between the twenty-nine sisters and their respective families jerking Quatre in circles, asking for money, demanding positions, promotions, real estate, school funding, _permission to_ _redecorate_...It was a small wonder Quatre was tired. Hard-mouthed, now, bemused more than humored. Though, he did seem genuinely concerned about the well-fare of Maxwell Scrap, or the lack thereof. But when he began to offer, because Quatre was good at that, offering, Duo declined. Duo would always be the one person in Quatre's life that would be there without Quatre's charity, big dewy eyes be damned.

Duo wasn't quite sure what Trowa's role was there, and Duo didn't have much of a reason to ask. Trowa always did whatever Trowa did, and there wasn't much to say for that anyway. He didn't quite hover over Quatre, and was almost always gone doing other things while Duo was at the mansion, but he remembered Quatre's eyes following Trowa's exit, his movement across a room, aware when he came in, left, wasn't there at all, wary about it in a way that suggested they weren't quite lovers anymore. Quatre mentioned that Trowa was bored. But then there was that wry, hard-mouthed smile, a slight shrug, and the topic would shift.

Wufei's presence was irritating. Only because Duo had no intention in joining the Preventers, and Wufei had no intention in speaking to Duo unless that was the subject of conversation. Of course, Wufei had good, convincing reasons, and Duo's reasons for refusing seemed superfluous and juvenile at best, but Duo was never the sort to do anything he didn't want to do, even when he was just being stubborn to be stubborn. He felt like his home colony just gave him the boot. Duo felt he'd earned a few months' privilege to being a bitter ass. But then, Wufei's timing was never quite on about anything anyway, so fuck him.

You going dirt side? Wufei asked, in one of those rare moments when being a Preventer wasn't the new Jedi, and joining wasn't the only way to feel the Force.

Yeah. Think so.

You going to look for him?

Maybe.

You think you'll find him? This was about where Duo realized Wufei's mind was already churning with the idea of getting Heero to join too. Hell, maybe Wufei followed him all the way here. Wouldn't put it past him. Wufei had a stubborn streak too.

No, Duo responded. No, I won't find him. He'll know I'm looking long before I'm anywhere close, and he'll find me if he wants to.

Wufei had nodded. He knew that. Conversation was one of those weird ones where the banter was barely necessary, because both parties knew the answer already and they were both speaking out loud just to give their phantoms the finger. Wufei slipped him a piece of paper. On it was the written address of the hospital in Brussels he'd been sent to on Earth, where Relena Peacecraft Darlian held his hand for four whole days while his body healed itself, where he disappeared and was never seen again. Heero Yuy's trail was seven years cold.

Might I ask why? Wufei's voice was quiet, almost disinterested if it weren't for the genuine curiosity in his black eyes.

You can ask whatever the hell you want to ask, Wufei. Fire away.

Why are you looking for him?

Lack of a better idea. Its time, anyway. Always knew I would, just a matter of when.

Duo finished his fourth whiskey, turning in his seat to glance at the television hanging in the upper-corner. Something about a string of murders, a group of officers surrounding a stretcher, a white sheet thrown over the body. Odd that it wouldn't be in a body bag, if the victim was dead. Duo turned back to Johnny and signaled for a fifth.

Johnny shook his head. "I think it might be time to cut you off, friend." His English was accented, sharp on the vowels. Czech, maybe.

Duo sighed heavily. "Fine." He threw some bills on the bar for his drinks, an extra twenty for the tip, stuffed his braid down his jacket and donned a black cap. "Have a good one."

"You too, man. Thanks for coming by."

The door chimed behind him, the street was glossy from a sprinkle Duo missed inside the bar. He hugged the jacket closer around himself, still not acclimated to the natural chill. Colonies had regulated temperatures, Earth not so much. Earth got cold whenever the hell it wanted to. Duo sort of liked that about the planet. She had a mind of her own, even with her billions of inhabitants stomping their foot for something different.

The strip was well-lit and busy. He followed it for seven blocks before veering left down a business block. Another five blocks, and he was at the hospital campus. It took him an hour and a half to circle it, massive structure that it was. Relena sure knew how to pick them. Probably wanted the best for her hero.

Duo didn't mind Relena, not really. Couldn't say that he really understood her, but he didn't mind her. She was idealistic, like Dean, and earnest, like Dean, but she was also not a moron, unlike Dean, so she had that in her arsenal. She was currently serving yet another term in office, Prime Foreign Minister, youngest yet in office. Hell, she earned it, and all the crap that came with it. Whatever. That story was also seven years cold.

Duo paused at a bus stop, sat on the blue, metal bench. He watched the traffic putter by, the groups of people heading for the strip, the promenade, the Hard Rock Café just around the corner. He watched the nurses and doctors meander through the courtyard, snoozing where they could, rushing by with their beepers beeping. The visitors walking in circles, some obviously lost, most just killing time. The bus stopped once every hour and left again without him. Eventually, Duo dozed off.

When he woke, it was very quiet. There were some noises, the faint whirring of a sole vehicle passing a block away, the sound of steam hissing through a vent a few yards down, the grumble of a bum who couldn't quite get comfortable on his pile of rags, the hum of the sliding doors at the entrance of the hospital. The sound of breathing.

Duo looked up sharply. Heero stood leaning against the hub of the overhang, gazing thoughtfully at the bum across the street, tossing on the sidewalk. He looked the same, and yet very different. Fuller, taller, like the teenage boy from before was just the frame of what he'd grow into. Same crazy hair, same dark blue eyes, same consternated frown. Wider shoulders, longer fingers, longer legs. Heero caught him staring.

Pugnacious, Duo met his gaze levelly. Of course, Duo spoke first. Duo always spoke first. "That was a lot easier than I thought it would be."

Heero's lips parted, just barely, and then pressed together again. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes sliding back to the fitful bum across the street. "Heard you were looking for me." Pointing out the obvious. Heero was good for that.

Duo shifted, rammed his hands further into his jacket pockets. Might as well get to the point. "Never wanted to be forced into a life I never wanted. Call this my last ditch effort."

"What do I have to do with that?" Same gravelly voice, rough as cement, that extra rumble that made you strain just a heartbeat too long hoping it would resonate something more.

"Live with me?"

Heero looked back at him, turning his whole body to face him. It was still very dark, pre-dawn blackness, made the shadows dense, thicker, eerily consuming. The shadows clung to the dips of Heero's face, mostly obscuring the hue of Heero's eyes as they burned at Duo, into Duo. "Live with you."

"Yeah."

Another tilt of his head. It was almost cute. Almost. Like when a dog gazes up at you with that one particular look and just dips its head to the side, the exclamation point on a very melting expression. That look dogs get when they're begging for scraps without actually making any noise or wagging their tail. More of a sensory thing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Duo never really got to the part in his head on whether on not Heero would agree, or if he'd even have the balls to ask, or even if he'd be able to find him at all--or, Jesus Christ, if it was a good idea _at all_. So, the speed with which his half-formed, desperate attempt at individuality and ambiguity actually fell into place was unnerving. Things were rarely this easy for him. He waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Okay," Heero repeated, his face immobile, his eyes glinting in the lamplight overhead.

"Okay," Duo echoed. "Okay. Alright. Okay." He stood, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "Where to now?"

**To be continued...**


	3. Jaded

**Title**: Prerequisite  
**Chapter Title**: Jaded  
**Summary**: "Duo, starting over would be as easy as cutting your hair and changing your name. But we both know you won't do that. And this won't ever blow over."

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: For Heero's perspective, I've decided to scatter Duo-isms every once and a while. Many of the quotes are from the canon.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi everyone. Thanks so much for receiving this story so well! It fueled the update, which was finished a lot sooner than I thought it'd be. Getting into Heero's brain was challenging, but a lot of fun. I wanted to keep core qualities of Heero-the-kid, and mature them in Heero-the-adult. I've been pulling heavily from the canon to organize Heero in _my_ head, and I've found that every time I return to the series and watch it again, I get something new from it. One of the things that hit me this time was that Heero really does have a sense of humor. It's dry, surely, but definitely there. I tried to play with that somewhat here.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Two

**Jaded**

A.C. 203

Never wanted to be forced into a life I never wanted.

October in Brussels was cold. Heero had felt just about every atmosphere Earth had to offer, and Brussels in October was one of his least favorite. Mostly because the wet accompanied the cold, an aggravating combination. The wet got into joints and froze, stinging bones when they had to move, groaning in protest. Heero's body remembered the war most with the wet, with the wet and with the cold.

He didn't babble. Heero might have been more at ease if he did, might have chalked it down to normal, might have been comforting to hear Duo blather about something nonsensical. But Duo was silent, walking beside him. No furtive glances, no sarcastic remarks, no fidgeting.

Wasn't really that Duo was ever nonsensical. Actually, for the most part, whatever Duo had chosen to say had usually been on the mark. A little jaded, sometimes, and often colored with extreme language and a pitch just above room temperature, but relevant. Duo was nothing if not relevant.

Maybe that's why the colonists got so uneasy around him. Duo could be anyone. He stood out, but only because Duo made a conscious decision to, during the war. The rapid shift from obvious to covert and back again excited Duo, kept the war from being boring, for him, addictive, until it got too serious, until the colonies accepted OZ and Duo became so self-righteous and indignant, he'd throw himself into a fight just to see how many people he could make bleed. How much _he_ could bleed without dying, how far he could push himself. Heero refused to consider he might have been the one to give him the idea. Except that he did consider it, and it bothered him so much he forced himself to stop there and ignore the bigger question. Why.

But why was not as relevant as it seemed. Because Duo wasn't like that now, and so it didn't matter why.

Duo's quiet was unnerving, but not really surprising. Duo was good at being silent when he wanted to be, when he needed to be. Heero tried to think of something to say, even something ugly, just to get him fired up, but his mind went a little blank. Heero thought he was better with people, now, but he hadn't prepared for how easily he'd slip back into the introvert he was eight years ago around a guy he used to fight beside, a guy who was barely more than a stranger.

Heero made an educated decision and took them further into the more urban parts of the city, maintaining a brisk walk, avoiding the old centre and the Grand Palace altogether. The city itself was old, ancient, still thick with a culture that clung to its roots, gothic architecture covetously maintained and rebuilt, over and over, even when the war of 195 shook its foundations, and Mariemaia's launch for power backfired, when Heero was forced to fire on one of the oldest structures in the city. Of course, the palace had been rebuilt, funded by the Earth Sphere Unified Nation that still insisted on keeping its headquarters close by, replacing Romafeller and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization that came centuries before it. History stretching back further even than the Sanq Kingdom held a power of its own, and Relena had been brilliant about understanding that, convincing the first President Elect that history, even a turbulent one, is the finest tool in swaying separate-minded political parties. Explore the new while respecting the old. And it worked. It's always worked. Because the war of 195 was not the first to devastate this international administrative center, and it would probably not be the last.

Heero took Duo east, towards the edge of the city, skirting the presence of history and politics and international chess because the one person who definitely did not want his presence known to that specter was Duo. Heero thought him something of a fool, at first, for coming to Brussels, after the attack on Maxwell Scrap. But Duo was nothing if not relevant, and Duo was nothing if not on the mark, and it was simple, therefore, to deduce Duo was looking for him. Better to meet him here on the first day, get him out, before Duo got himself into more trouble.

Duo walked beside him, matching him step for step, as if connected by an invisible harness, sensing more than seeing Heero's change in direction, rapid shift left or right, silent and quick as the shadow he was renowned for. Heero wasn't sure how he felt about that, how he felt about what changed in a person, and what didn't change at all, over time. Heero crossed the street, steps light on the wet asphalt, moisture clinging to it almost counter-scientific, as it hadn't rained in hours, a glaze of colorful, oily grime in the early, dingy light of dawn. He halted outside of a diner, reading the OPEN sign printed in French, and then again in Dutch, and rolling his eyes at the bewildering complexity of Brussels' demographics, another ancient conflict, petty, almost, because it really seemed mostly about language. Duo was looking at him now.

"You're underweight," Heero said. Which was to say, Duo looked hungry, and blearily hung-over enough that he could really use a hot meal in his belly--but Heero wasn't sure how to say that without pissing him off. Heero went inside, feeling, more than knowing, Duo was right on heels following him.

A hollow-eyed waitress smiled sleepily at them as the door chimed, her hair, still wet from a recent shower, coiled tightly in a bun at the base of her neck, and gestured toward a dozen rows of vacant booths. Heero chose the one in the back corner, giving both of them perfect views of each exit, without being too close to the large windows encasing the restaurant. Duo tossed his backpack onto the seat, a ratty affair held together with more paperclips and pins than actual stitched seams, and began to shrug off his jacket. Heero raised a hand sharply to stop him, somewhat outstretched, hovering in the air between them as Duo froze and stared at him. Slowly, Duo replaced the tattered jacket on his shoulder, kept his hair tucked underneath of it, hidden. At least he understood why Heero stopped him, without forcing him to explain out loud. Duo kept his cap on as well and slid into his seat.

"So, what is this, another pity fuck?"

The abrasiveness of the delivery was more startling than the bluntness of his words. Heero jerked a little in his skin, eyes jumping up to meet Duo's as he sat down. Duo didn't look angry, just very still, demanding. Blatant in that he expected an answer.

Pity fuck. An obscene reference to _Peacemillion_, something they'd never, ever spoken about, even when they teamed up to crush the Barton Rebellion before it got too much footing. Something that never came up because Duo was too blasé about every goddamn thing and Heero needed to concentrate on getting Relena out of Mariemaia's juvenile clutches anyway.

"I don't know what you mean," Heero said, but only because he did not like that particular look behind Duo's eyes, blue, today, in the early daylight.

The waitress arrived with a pot of hot coffee, setting two mugs in front of them and filling each with the brew. They ignored her, too busy staring at each other, wary and defiant, equal parts, impregnating the silence with a foreboding of interpersonal drama. The waitress dropped off menus and left, well-tuned to when she was interrupting a conversation customers would rather her not overhear.

However, the second the girl turned her back, Duo's eyes slid away and dropped. He picked up his menu and flipped it open. Hesitating only a moment, Heero did the same. They both ordered waffles and eggs, though Heero wanted his boiled and Duo insisted on his scrambled with an absurd amount of cheese. In fact, he highlighted the word _absurd_ to the waitress, winking and turning on the full Duo Maxwell charm to make sure there was more cheese than egg when it finally arrived on their table. _Aberrant._

Duo caught him eyeing it, and maybe the look on his face amused him, because he pushed his plate across the table and told Heero to try some.

Heero wondered, briefly, if the undercurrent of tension between them would escalate if he refused--and it might, because this was Brussels and if language was enough to embitter a populace, cheese would be too. Heero forked some and popped it into his mouth. It was like he thought it would be; instead of egg with cheese as an added flavor, it was cheese with the texture of egg. That being said, it wasn't too bad.

"It's weird," Duo said around a mouthful of waffles. "Being here. Hasn't changed much."

"Une lives here," Heero answered without looking up. "On the other side of the city."

"Preventers." Enough irritation in that single word to encourage Heero to change the subject. However slightly.

"Mariemaia changed her name. She wants to go to University here, but Une doesn't think it's a good idea."

"It's not." Duo swallowed a mouthful of coffee, wiped the back of his hand across his lips. "You're in touch with them?"

A little resentment there, too. "No, Duo. I killed her once. Just making sure she stays dead."

"Oh." Duo tapped the prongs of his fork against his teeth absently, his eyes toward the window. "You're permanent in Brussels?"

"No." Heero sipped at his coffee and sat back, following Duo's gaze. The neighborhood was beginning to wake up. Two men in overalls walked by, entered the diner, took a booth close to the door. Never so much as glanced their way. "I don't have a permanent residence."

Duo did not answer that, losing the tempo of the conversation, his gaze fixated on the men by the door. Heero saw what Duo saw. Black lining the fingernails used to pick up the menus offered them. One wore a round metal ring hooked to his jumper, more than two dozen keys dangling from it. Their last names were printed on identical stitched plaques, the emblem of their shop right above. Mechanics. Heero looked back at Duo, who allowed Heero an entire moment to see the naked mourning in his face before he shuttered it, put down his fork and replaced it with his coffee. Duo took another swallow, gestured to the waitress for a refill.

"Do you need that?" Heero waited until Duo looked at him again. "Permanence?"

Duo shrugged, restless fingers twisting a bit of napkin as they waited for the girl to come over with a fresh pot and leave again. "Don't want any trouble," Duo said, like he'd said it before, repeated it over and over, until it lost meaning even for him. "Just want it to blow over so I can start again."

"Start again doing what?" Heero let a little heat move his words, getting Duo's attention now, making him sit up straighter in his seat. "Duo, starting over would be as easy as cutting your hair and changing your name. But we both know you won't do that. And this won't ever blow over."

Duo had tried everything he could make it right, and Heero always knew things would never be right, only slightly better--and now Heero wished he'd had the balls to tell him so forever ago, like he'd told Chang, like he'd told Relena. Might have prevented the embittered dreamer sitting across from him.

Duo's jaw went tight, the muscles in his face moving as he ground his teeth. He turned to glare furiously out the window. "You afraid I'll expose you? Like Trowa?"

That surprised him, only because of the addition. Trowa must have said something to him, guilted him into making his visit to the Winners as brief as possible. "No," Heero said. "And stop feeling sorry for yourself. Anyway, it's warmer south. Still. Spain will be nice until November, and then we could go to Greece."

It was Duo's turn to look startled, eyeing him carefully under the brim of his cap. "What the hell have you been doing all these years?"

Heero shrugged. Nothing spectacular, nothing as exciting as making your dreams come true and watching it burn to ash in the course of seven years. Heero signaled for the check. "_L'addition_. I have a room down the block," he said. "You need rest. We'll talk later."

But Duo was still eyeing him, and not quite with that defiant, bitter look he'd favored him with earlier, like it was Heero's fault his whole world had come crashing down around his ears. Now, it was more interest than anything. Heero fought vainly against the wave of nostalgia that swept through him.

Duo had looked at him like that before. Duo had looked at him like that scarcely weeks after he'd shot him, scarcely weeks before Heero gutted his Gundam and ruined a friendship Duo had not been shy about offering.

~*~

I'll be the God of Death any day. But right now, I need some sleep.

"Homey."

It was a familiar bit of Duo Maxwell snark, so Heero let it pass. The hotel was indistinct and crumbling, which is why Heero chose it, and the room wasn't much better. Heero hadn't planned on staying in Brussels very long anyway.

Duo sat his backpack on a chair and shrugged out of his jacket. The windows were covered with thick, moth-eaten curtains, and light only refracted off of thin streams of dust motes. Duo's eyes seemed larger in the darkness, larger and brighter. He seemed more like the boy he knew from the war with his eyes like that, big and wide and noticing everything. Heero watched him do a quick sweep of the room, removing his cap and running two hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp beneath the braid. Different, that, too; because his hair wasn't the mangled, near-dreaded mess it'd been eight years ago, when Duo knew no other way of getting the mane out of his face than to braid it. Now, even though slightly tousled, it seemed groomed, polished in the way that vets polish old medals, shine old dog tags, even when during the action they'd been no more than bits of metal to identify them in the raucous. A prized trophy, taken care of and differed to in the sense that made mere pride something to acknowledge, something to respect. History, as glaringly obvious as scars from battle wounds. Duo would never willingly cut it, because even though being who he is was just enough to put him in harm's way, it was the pride of the thing, the conduit for a memory Duo was never willing to let go of, the symbol of eternal baggage. The icon of survivor's guilt, muted, subtle, but definitely there.

Heero gestured to the single bed, mattress already turned over so the cleaner side was up. "Sleep," he said.

Duo didn't need to be told twice. He crawled onto the bed and flopped on his side, curled towards the wall, bundling up his jacket and using it as a pillow. Heero sat behind his laptop, his pride and glory, if he had such a thing, and booted it up. He was dead serious about Spain. And he hadn't seen the Sea in almost a year. Maybe instead of Greece, they could just go to Formentera, where the climate was mild year around. Where it was quiet and autonomous, where the odds were against anyone ever recognizing Duo. Heero had a postcard of the island somewhere in his duffle.

Heero shook Duo around midday, thinking the other man might thank him for helping regulate his shaken sleeping pattern. Heero offered to bring him lunch.

"Fuck lunch and fuck you. Lemme sleep."

Well, okay. Heero ate lunch alone, at the deli on the corner of the block. It was interesting, Heero found, and almost fun, to analyze how cultures mimic others. The Dutch deli, selling Italian subs and mis-transliterating Italian words on the menu was faintly amusing. Comforting, too, because Heero had done this before. Many times before. Seven years worth of times before. The American Quarter in Japan was especially funny, their insistence on capitalizing cowboys, a genre dead centuries before he was born, showcasing a fascination that had never quite died out a half a world away. A parody, as his culture dictated humor. Colonies did that too, mimic, but the culture in space was either blue collar or political, rarely anything in between, the miners and mechanics and their families, and then the committees in place to control them, regulate them, docket them. Colonial humor, Heero found, was bit more brittle. Duo woke finally around dusk and stumbled into the shower, grumbling under his breath about sleeping the day away. When he re-emerged, Heero explained about the Thalys.

"So, we're going to Paris." Duo's smile was wide. Heero might have been irritated by it, if it weren't so relieving.

"We're connecting in Paris," Heero corrected. "Pay attention. We're connecting in Paris, and we're going to Madrid. I was thinking we could spend a few weeks there, get you settled, research the status of the investigation--"

"I need clothes."

"And then--what? Fine, whatever. We'll get you clothes, in Madrid." Heero rubbed at his forehead.

"I'm hungry. I'd rather not wait for Madrid to eat something."

"I'm not your fucking keeper," Heero snapped, closing his laptop and jerking the cord from the wall. Which was to say, I offered to feed you five hours ago.

Duo was quiet for half a breath, and then: "Wufei wants me in Preventers."

Heero froze, looking up sharply at Duo. "When did you see Wufei?"

"Came to Quatre's. Slipped me the address in Brussels." Duo's eyes were darker now, indigo. Heero fought a reactionary shiver. "Are you a Preventer, Heero Yuy?"

Heero blinked very slowly, trying to relate to what he was saying, trying to see it from his perspective. God, it wasn't for lack of trying. "No, Duo. I'm not a Preventer."

"Would you swear to that?"

"I have never in my life lied to you."

"You have never in your life acquired something valuable enough, where I'm concerned, to necessitate lying. Completely fucking irrelevant." Duo's eyes were almost black, now, tiny slits in a face that had, at some point, decided to lose its youthful roundness. "Would you swear to it?"

Heero wasn't sure why it was so important. "I don't see why I need to, and I'm tempted to say no just out of principle." Admittedly juvenile, but anyway. "Wufei asked you to enlist and you said no? Duo Maxwell, you are a fool."

"Don't fucking judge me, Yuy. Don't do that. And don't try to sell me Wufei's fucking garbage either. I'm fine without anyone's goddamn babysitting."

"Right." Heero shook his head, knowing it would anger him. "And that's why you came to me."

"Fuck you." Duo was up and gone, quick, as he was, to burn his heels on the back of an insult a little too close to home. Either way, Heero shouldn't have said that. He knew he should not have because he had done the very same thing to Duo over Relena Peacecraft's abduction. I need help, and you're the only one I trust.

Duo was just, really, calling in a favor. And he had enough class not to say so, if one could argue that 'fuck you' was classy. Heero went out after him, grabbing the jacket and cap Duo left behind on the way. He caught up to him two blocks down and fell into step beside him.

"Duo," Heero said, nudging him with his jacket.

"Don't 'Duo' me," he retorted, but he took the jacket, and then the cap.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Food."

A stifled sigh. Difficult. Duo Maxwell had to be difficult about everything. "What kind?"

Duo paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the go. "What's this place popular for."

"Waffles," Heero said, without missing a beat, without thinking, like maybe he should have. "Chocolate. French fries."

Duo looked over at him, watching him in that way that suggested he was listening to more than what Heero was saying, but also to what Heero was not saying. "Anything else?"

"Beer." Heero ran a hand through his hair and started forward as the light shifted, as the mingling crowd around them surged. "They have a lot of beer here."

"You were never much of a drinker."

Heero snorted. "I was fifteen. And I was distracted by the war. Sorry to disappoint."

"Distracted by the war," Duo echoed, adjusting the cap over his eyes and tucking a wisp of hair behind his hair. "That's the first goddamn thing you've said in the past eighteen hours that's made any sort of sense."

"I'm still not much of a drinker," he admitted, skirting the issue.

Duo laughed. "Alright. French fries it is." Duo fell behind a little, the shadow again, following Heero's lead. "By the way, when are we leaving?"

Heero checked his watch. "Three hours."

~*~

How 'bout trusting me a bit? This time I definitely won't let the mission fail.

The train station was congested, even at the semi-late hour. Trains were popular in Europe, and for many of the same reasons Heero liked them. The magnet-on-magnet technology for railroads made the trip smooth, reminded Heero of flying through space, where you had the psychological sense you were going somewhere, but your body wasn't quite sure. And they were private, if you knew how to reserve your ticket. Heero always paid for four, so he did not have to deal with unwanted, unwelcome strangers and their bizarre, uninteresting topics for conversation.

They passed a beggar, all but obscured by the rush of feet in the crowded terminal. Heero dug in his pocket and dropped a few bills into the man's can. He didn't look at his face, Heero never looked at their faces. It disturbed him too much wondering whether or not he'd known them, shot them down once upon a time, widowed or orphaned them. Duo noticed. Duo noticed and turned around, looked the old man dead in the face. His stalling didn't slow Heero, who grabbed his sleeve and jerked him forward again.

"You know that guy?" Duo Maxwell and his big, stupid mouth.

"No."

Duo stared at Heero the entire way to the train.

Train stations were useful for other reasons, especially the three larger ones in Brussels. They were monitored. He utilized that now, gesturing to Duo to board, shifting his duffle from one shoulder to the next, turning deliberately and looking up at the security camera in the upper northeast corner. He lifted his hand, two fingers up. A message for the Preventers, who surveyed this terminal piously, determined to prevent terrorism anywhere near the headquarters for the Earth Sphere Unified Nation. A message for Wufei, who would be watching too, if he'd made a point of speaking to Duo, sending him to this city. Message: I have him. Leave it alone. Heero boarded the train.

Their cabin was small, as it happens on trains, but there were four bunks and a tiny, private bathroom. They wouldn't need to leave unless for meals. Duo settled in, using the lavatory first to brush his teeth with the complimentary toothbrush and paste he acquired from the motel. Heero went after, splashed water on his face and rinsed out his mouth. He avoided his reflection, habitual now, after all these years. Heero had all but forgotten why he did that, though he was pretty sure there was _some_ definitive reason, and so stuck with his instincts. He left the lavatory when the train began to lurch forward, minutes, perhaps, too late--or maybe just seconds, as Duo could be quick when he had a mind to be. Duo had his duffle open and was shifting through his belongings.

Heero wasn't certain why he was suddenly so angry. Maybe he was affronted, insulted by Duo's lack of respect for his privacy. Maybe it was because a small part of him dreaded having to explain himself. Heero had never quite mastered that, explaining himself; especially not to Duo. Either way, the surge of heat in his chest was like an echo of battle lust, rising to the occasion, because if you didn't like it just a little bit, the fighting, then you might as well go home. War wasn't worth losing your soul over. Heero learned that from ZERO.

Duo's grip on his duffle was firm when Heero went to snatch it from him, his expression utterly unapologetic, which only served to anger Heero more.

"How's your ribs?" he snarled.

Duo laughed in his face. "Fine, thank you. Thought you'd never ask. Why are there, like, three hundred rolls of film in here? Camera's good quality too--"

Heero tried to jerk the thing from Duo's hands, but only managed to rip two seams in the bag. "It's absolutely none of your business."

"Is if some of those photos are of me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"What do you have to hide, Heero?" Duo tugged back, half-heartedly, his eyes wide and laughing and amethyst. "Besides, it's sort of silly to take so many pictures and never develop them. Why do you carry around the negatives?"

Heero played dirty. He dropped his eyes to Duo's mouth, watched as his breath hitched, leaned in. And tore the duffle from his grip as Duo's fingers loosened. Heero turned when Duo's face went blank, and then thunderous, and stuffed his duffle under his pillow. Made his bunk smaller and much less comfortable, but Heero had slept on worse. He crawled in, daring a glance up at Duo, still standing in the center of the cabin, fingers clenched into fists.

Duo glared at nothing for an entire minute, his mouth set in a thin line. Finally, when his gaze shifted and he looked at Heero, his eyes were so dark, they were purple, shadowy, murderous. "Two can play that game, Yuy."

Heero shrugged and lay back on his bulky pillow. He closed his eyes, listening as Duo moved around the cabin, selected something to fiddle with, and crept into his own bunk. Then, Heero slept. He could always sleep around Duo Maxwell. At least that had never changed.

~*~

Well, there's no turning back now.

Paris was brief, but not eventless.

They had to change trains, take two flights of stairs down to the correct terminal. Wasn't really taxing, except for the part where Duo noticed the late night news. Heero couldn't remember Duo ever knowing more than a handful of words in any given language, but he'd always had the uncanny ability to understand more that a street rat from L2 had rights to.

There were televisions in a shoppette between terminals, four of the six screens running the same story from different channels, all in French. Colonial news, however rarely known to trickle down and infect dirt side circulation, was still interesting for Earthers, who had long memories and enjoyed believing they were well-informed. The shots of inner-L2 weren't remarkable, unless you'd been to the cluster often enough to tell the difference between that and any other colony, but the plume of black smoke swirling into hidden vents was unmistakable. Old news, as the attack on Maxwell Scrap happened almost a month ago, so the camera work was old too, carefully cut together, like it was more of a short film than quick coverage, the pompous pricks. The anchors were chatting with specialists, discussing everything from the nature and history of hate crimes, to terrorism, to conspiracy theories too absurd to be worth mentioning. Shots of Duo from the war flickered from one screen to the next, two OZ soldiers dragging him from his suit by the arms, shackled to a chair for interrogation, the explosion of Deathscythe as Trowa Barton, posing as an officer under Une, destroyed it on international and colonial news.

Duo was ghost white beside him, shaking like a leaf. His mouth was torn somewhere between a grimace and an incredulous, self-deprecating smirk. His face, thankfully, was hidden beneath his cap, his braid obscured by his tattered jacket, and no one recognized him. No one even noticed him until Wufei's face came on the screen.

Wufei was surrounded by a dozen other Preventers, all uniformed and on site after the yard had burned itself out. He seemed to have been picked by the reporter on mere bad luck, a microphone shoved in his face. Wufei shoved it back, but the reporter was insistent, repeating her question, the French translation in white block letters at the bottom of the screen.

"Is it true that the community was only defending themselves against--"

"The accusations are unfounded," Wufei bit out, flashing an irritated look first at her, then to the camera man, and back again. "Duo Maxwell is a hero. A great injustice has been done here."

Duo snorted hard, his whole body convulsing with the effort, as Wufei pushed past the reporter and the screen switched back to the anchor. "Fucking give it a rest, Wu," Duo barked, earning none too few stares in response.

Heero grabbed Duo's elbow, jerked him slightly to get his attention. "Let's go."

"I want to watch the feed."

Following an odd whim, Heero caught a stray lock fallen free from Duo's cap and tucked it back behind his ear. "I know," Heero said, doing his best to keep his tone soft as well as quiet, watching Duo go still beneath the gesture, wary, like he would run at the slightest sign of danger. Duo was a runner, especially when he was on edge. Heero just needed to make sure they ended up running in the same general direction. "I promise you, we'll watch all the footage once we're in Spain."

"Why would they still be covering this story," Duo asked breathlessly, still shaking, still ghost white. "Why would they show all of that again?"

"We'll find out," Heero promised. "_In Spain_."

The first time Space decided to use Duo Maxwell as their whipping boy, the first time, when they cheered as OZ destroyed everything Duo held dear, even if it was just his pride, his cause and his suit, Duo had been alone. Heero remembered thinking, when it happened, that Duo was alone.

Heero remembered the broken mantra, sensible--harsh--but sensible liturgy that sent the insurgent he used be after him. 02 is now a hazard, 02 is obsolete, therefore 02 must--but broken by the single terrible fact. Duo Maxwell fought a one-man war in space against a tyrant, defending Spacers who weren't even grateful. There was something to be said for that.

There was something to be said for Duo withstanding another onslaught, careful not to incriminate the rest of them, take it on alone. There was something to be said for trying.

But he wasn't alone this time.

Duo was even more silent during the train ride into Spain than he had been into France. Heero expected that, and let him be. In Madrid, Heero led them out of the station, but decided to take a detour on the way to their motel. The sun was up, brighter here than in Brussels, in the early morning. They spent forty minutes in a cab, and then another ten walking quickly up several blocks. Heero remembered the place by sight, felt his way there like he felt his way around any cockpit. He'd considered, before, purchasing the equipment, but thought himself out of it because he didn't have anyone to share the images with anyway. Besides, he had already seen them, when he initially took them.

Inside the shop, Heero found an enlarger and brought it to the cashier. He left it on the counter while he went back for chemicals. He returned with several bottles of developer and fixer, and Duo appeared at his side, his arms laden with plastic trays, photographic paper, and a red light. Afterwards, they went next door and purchased about eight boxes of black trash bags and half a dozen rolls of electrical tape, necessary, of course, to create a darkroom.

Duo was grinning like a demon by the time they checked into the motel.

**To be continued...**


	4. My Ensign and Escutcheon

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: Dark blue, Heero's eyes, probing in the way they did when Heero was searching for something to say. Wasn't a usual occurrence, but Duo had to give him an A for effort. All things considered, the man was trying.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: In the prologue, I rely heavily on events occurring during episodes forty-five through forty-eight.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: The clearer I become on this story, the quicker each chapter reaches its word limit and I'm pulling at my hair. *laughs* Good news is, I still have so much to cover that I'm very clear on, so the next few updates should come even faster than this one. Hoffer was a fun way to jab at Wufei, make his presence known in this chapter even if we don't see him for a few more days. But all things considered, I'm happy with the informative nature of this update, and the way Heero reads when Duo is describing him. Very Bourne. Hope you enjoy!

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Three

**My Ensign and Escutcheon**

AC 203

The god-awful screech of tape even made Heero wince. It seemed louder than it should have, given the silence stretching between the two. Duo's laugh was one of those startled, apologetic ones that weren't really an apology at all--as it was pretty obvious how funny he found it. The slow-spreading grin probably gave him away. "Sorry."

Heero's eyes burned at him for a brief moment, the only evidence of his irritation, and then he went back to work. "If Chang's still in space, we might be able to stay here for a few weeks."

"Chang's not the only Preventer in the organization."

"Yes. But he's the only one they'd send after you."

"They might send Sally."

"Ah. She's...well, yes. They might, actually."

"Might be nice to see her."

The tape was old anyway, and to prevent any problems from it not sticking where it should, or sticking where it shouldn't, Heero and Duo completed two hours worth of cleaning their motel room. At least this time, they wouldn't have to watch where they put their hands. The last motel was...horrid.

For his part, Duo craved a clean space. Any mechanic he knew did, contrary to popular belief about grungy, filthy men who worked with their hands. Duo had treated Maxwell Scrap with the same care and devotion he'd shown Deathscythe. Kept it sanitary, well-oiled, organized...vulnerable to attack by angry people who had it out for its owner. But really, that was beside the point.

It was especially important to a person working daily with oil and dirt and metal dust, to keep a handle on it. Careless mechanics got shut down, got sick, became hazardous to the neighboring shops. And running an entire scrap yard made it especially important for Duo to be aware of his space.

"So what is it about this country that's got you so..."

"It's warm. Warmer than most of the European countries. Easy access to the Sea." Heero paused and straightened, rolling his shoulder to stretch out the bunched ligaments. "First sign of trouble, you get spooked, whatever--we hit the Mediterranean and we can be anywhere. Logistics, Duo."

"Yeah, uh-huh, or you managed to turn into a grumpy old man since I've seen you last and you get off on vacationing." Duo threw another grin in his direction, noting the stiff set of his shoulders, the jerky movements of his fingers. "White sands, tour buses, palm trees. Nude beaches..."

The bathroom was the simplest solution, as the room itself had a window and the lavatory did not. Duo used his pocket knife to cut up a three by two foot square in front of the door, scrubbing the under-floor until the ingrained dirt and dust beneath was all but up, so they could begin taping the black trash bags down and working the length to the ceiling. Heero was taller, so he worked the top half of the line and Duo concentrated on the bottom. Within the hour, they were connecting the trash bags in the center, leaving a slit open in the middle to slide through and tape closed from the inside to keep light out. Towels were used to stuff the underside of the bathroom door, in case any sneaky light trickled through spots they missed. Heero set the enlarger on the toilet cover, the only surface large enough to hold it, and Duo removed the shower curtain so the photos could hang dry from the rail. The trays went inside the tub, and the sink was filled with water, easiest to drain and refresh as the photos made their last trip to wash off chemical. The red bulb replaced the one in the ceiling, and several strips of photographic paper were set on the edge of the tub for developer and fixer samples, avoiding too much paper waste.

They worked around each other in the cramped, tiny space quietly, save for the random bursts of playful banter, as natural as it had always been. Familiarity, it seemed, came to them only when they had a joint task. It had always been easy for them to team up on a mission. Always. Conversation was harder, friendship was harder, because they had so little in common. Because Heero didn't seem to know any other way to communicate than to be a jackass, and Duo had long since lost his sense of humor about it. Even so, Duo's curiosity about what the hell was on those negatives was itching him in all the right places.

Duo silently helped Heero cut dozens of three by five inch rectangles of photographic paper and set them in neat stacks by the toilet. Afterwards, they both left the room to retrieve Heero's duffle. Heero grabbed it first and used his body to stand between it and Duo. Duo had to fight not to roll his eyes.

"Dude, really?" Duo gestured exasperatingly towards the bathroom, completely obscured by the impromptu foyer of black trash bags. "We just spent half the morning--"

"I can do this," Heero interrupted, in that flat, resonating tone of his, pointing towards his laptop. "You do that."

Ah. Actually, putting it that way, it sure would save some time. The bathroom was tiny anyway, better suited for just one grumpy vacationing male at a time. Duo shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and went to unpack the computer.

First order of business. As it was Heero's computer, and it might just aggravate him, Duo decided to update the man's laptop, change all the passwords, revise the firewalls, re-route the infrastructure--and when Heero's computer was thoroughly and completely tweaked, Duo hacked into L4.

Duo hadn't done this in forever. He'd forgotten how entertaining it could be, how frighteningly easy. Duo found Quatre at work, looking bored out of his mind and speaking on his cell to a political advisor whose campaign the Winners happened to fund. Quatre had his back turned to his computer, so Duo could only see the back of his golden head, one polished finger twirling the chord on the phone, staring out the glass to the sprawling city below.

"Hi, Quatre."

The finger paused, slipped out of the knotted chord. His chair jerked to one side as he planted his feet on the carpet, and swiftly to the other as Quatre turned, eyeing a computer screen that was, for all intents and purposes, still black and blank from his end of the feed.

"_Yes, I understand that Reace_," Quatre said into the phone as he leaned forward and flicked on his computer screen. The corner of his mouth quirked at the sight of Duo and he pressed a finger to his lips. "_Truly, I understand you. However, that simply does not qualify for an extension. Of course. Yes, of course; and by all means--if you can find funding elsewhere..._" Quatre's mouth bunched, as if he wanted to smile but knew it would be impolite. "_I see. Well then, I look forward to--Yes. Definitely. Alright, Reace. I must go. Yes. Good bye. Duo!_" Quatre all but threw the handle on the receiver, his smile flashing the tips of his teeth. "_You had me thinking I was crazy!_"

Duo would have laughed, but another voice interrupted. It sounded suspiciously like Trowa, but he couldn't make out the words. Trowa's voice was good for that, being lower than the hum of static. Used to drive OZ freaking nuts when they couldn't understand a word he was saying to Heero, out testing the Mercurius and the Vayeatte. Duo's fingers flew over the keyboard, adjusting the feed so he could pick up the new tone.

Quatre's smile faded, his eyes flashing briefly over the vidphone at whoever else was in the room with him. "_I would bet my life that he wouldn't contact me on an insecure line._"

Duo's tampering allowed him to catch the bare end of the response. "--are _betting your life, Quatre_." It _was_ Trowa.

"It's alright, lover boy," Duo called over the speaker. "Promise to keep it brief."

Quatre threw a sharp look at Duo, reproachful even, as if irritated that someone else had the nerve to fight his fight for him. "_Not your place, Duo_." A pause, for that, because Quatre had a way of making grown men feel chastised.

Something that was a part of his breeding, Duo supposed. He remembered conversations with Quatre, on Earth in the desert, hiding out with the Maguanacs. He was always afraid of sounding like he spoke ill of his father, but there was so much hurt, so much frustration, Duo had been the perfect candidate to sit and get dumped on. Because no matter how spoilt and vexed Quatre might seem, they both knew that Duo's opinion and respect for Sandrock's golden boy would never change. Friendships were built on that stuff. Long nights filled with: He had a way, my father, to snatch the attention of an entire room on his presence alone.

Or: He collected the loyalties of men like you or I would collect soda caps or baseball cards. Men would die for him.

Or even: He never had to pull me over his knee, punish me with violence. As pacifists, it's not our way. But he had a quality in his voice, a certain disapproval whenever any one of us wronged him, that could stop us all in our tracks, and he might as well have slapped me...or-or whoever. Probably would have had the same effect, anyway.

Duo wondered if he's realized that yet, that he's sort of become his father. At least, acquired all the attributes that struck fear and respect in the boy he used to be when his father was still alive.

"_I appreciate your concern, Trowa_," Quatre was saying off-screen. "_I do. But we used to be friends. Don't isolate me_."

Trowa's response was quick and short, colored with anger. Duo couldn't remember ever hearing him speak like that to Quatre. "_Isolate you? Ironic, Winner. Just remember who asked me here_." The slam of a door, loud enough to make Duo jump, thousands of miles away on Earth as he was. Quatre however simply stared off-screen for a moment, hard lines of anger around his mouth and nose, his eyes dark and impenetrable.

"Sounds a bit more than a lover's spat," Duo mused, but stopped there. They had all become fiercely protective of their privacy, over the years, and Quatre was no exception. And if the burning look he threw back at Duo through the vidphone wasn't a testament to that, he didn't know what was.

"_We've found_," Quatre said after a deliberate pause, his tone cold and brittle. "_The sex is remarkably better when we can't stand the sight of one another_."

"All right, Quat." Duo held up two hands in surrender. "Got your point."

Quatre's mood shifted rapidly, relaxed again, bemused as his eyes roved at the spaces behind Duo. His fingers drifted over his keyboard, aiding his curiosity. "_Where are you?_"

"Spain," he offered freely, and the trust was rewarded, because Quatre quit his fiddling and sat back in his chair, completely at ease now.

"_Why Spain?_"

"Heero says he likes being close to the Sea."

Quatre lurched forward again, abruptly breathless at the news. "_You _found_ him_."

"Found me," Duo corrected.

Quatre's hand moved, a weird gesture of indifference. "_How is he?_"

"I--he's fine, Quat. He's fine. He'll probably throttle me when he finds out I told you."

"_You two getting along?_"

"As well as we used to."

Quatre hummed, resting his head on the back of his chair, gazing at Duo through the slits of his eyes. "_That bad, huh?_"

"Not bad. Just, you know. I'm an ass, he's an asshole; we're figuring it out."

"_Ah._" Quatre chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "_Wufei left a message for you. About enlisting. Would you like to hear it?_"

"No. And do me a favor, will ya? Tell him, and quote me, tell him: 'Ready, set, go fuck yourself.'"

Quatre loosed a startled laugh and leaned forward to adjust the volume on his computer. He glanced up through his lashes. "_I'll tell him you're considering it, but your decision is unlikely to change._"

Duo made a face, picked at the peeling leather on his sleeve cuffs. "Thought my answer was more pointed."

Quatre uncrossed and re-crossed his legs. "_Colonies became a little nervous when the police couldn't find you for questioning. Preventers had to make an announcement that you were in protective custody._"

"Lies."

"_Yes, well_."

"You think I owe Chang for that?"

"_No. But he might. You know how Wufei gets_."

"I don't want any favors from the Preventers."

"_Duo, they're trying to do their jobs. Investigation showed your body was never found, we have witnesses at the shuttleport seeing you get off-colony, some even remember you coming here. No, not specifically to_ my_ house, just to the colony. Calm down. You and Trowa, I swear. But when your trail went cold, people got scared. You needed to be accounted for._"

"Because I'm the one they remember."

Quatre nodded solemnly. "_Because you're the one they remember_."

"So that's why Preventers were snooping around my yard."

"_Yes. Mostly for show, because they already knew you went Earth, that you were safe. People need to know that the Preventers are preventing_."

"Did a smashing job of--"

"_Don't even say it, Duo_." Quatre's voice reverted to that scolding, slashing hereditary quality from before. "_You knew it was coming too, and if you were doing nothing to avert the annihilation of your own mundane lifestyle, why would the Preventers step in?_"

"Would have been nice to know they cared enough to try."

"_Same could be said for you_."

"What are you saying?"

Quatre paused, evaluating him. Duo could do something similar with his own voice, use a tone that made it very apparently clear when someone was breaching a subject they had not been invited into.

"_Let me just say_," Quatre amended in a placating tone. "_Let me just say that I think it will be good for you to have company, and that I'm glad you're with Heero. Speaking of which_." Obvious relation to what Quatre was choosing not say. Sometimes Duo hated that about him, that he could throw a thing in your face without being implicated for it. "_Hilde keeps calling. What should we tell her?_"

"Tell her she needs to get busy." Duo grinned. "Tell her I expect a godson by the time I'm in Space again."

Quatre smiled, but it was hard-mouthed, bemused instead of amused. "_Is that all?_"

"Yeah, Quat, that's all. Anything else I should know about my yard?"

"_They've..._" The hesitation made Duo not want to hear it, but he waited anyway, waited for Quatre to build up the nerve to spit it out. "_They've already sold the lot_."

Duo looked away, afraid that Quatre would think he was glaring at him in the event he couldn't control his expression. A great stillness settled in his stomach, anger bleeding into passivity.

"_Check in soon_," Quatre went on to say, sensing that Duo's end of the conversation was over. "_Anytime; you know I mean that. And don't listen to Trowa--the last time I checked, my company wasn't called the Barton Enterprise, and thank god for that. I can do whatever I wish with my means of communication. Take care. Okay? Take care, Duo. And tell Heero I said hello_."

Duo didn't know how long he sat there after absent-mindedly switching off the screen. His brain was numb with the knowledge, but his instincts were still active enough to register Heero emerging from the plastic foyer, crossing the room to the little kitchenette by the closet. The sound of the faucet registered, the clink of a glass.

"They sold the lot."

A long silence, broken only by the sip Heero took of his water. "Who did?"

"Doesn't matter." It did, really. It _did_ matter because it could involve the Preventers in the attack, could incriminate more than just the angry mob that set it afire. Didn't matter, though, because Duo knew L2. And it was something L2 would do. Whatever crooked scheme that resulted in Duo Maxwell being booted, the colony washing their hands of the last reminder of oppression and revolt, it _didn't_ matter. And frankly, he knew Chang Wufei enough to know that the man would have had a conniption if the Preventers were behind it. "They could have just asked me to leave."

Duo stood and retrieved the lease from his backpack. He went to the window, stepped out onto the terrace, and lit the thing with his zippo. He watched dispassionately as the chunky ashes caught the frail breeze and flittered away towards downtown. Not sure why he kept it in the first place. Should have just let it burn with the rest of Maxwell Scrap, since the powers that be already had a buyer ready when the smoke cleared.

Heero was still there when Duo returned, still standing by the sink, a glass of water hovering in the air between them. Dark blue, Heero's eyes, probing in the way they did when Heero was searching for something to say. Wasn't a usual occurrence, but Duo had to give him an A for effort. All things considered, the man was trying.

Duo accepted the water and gulped down the remainder of it.

"You won't pursue it." Gravelly voice, resonating. Just a pitch above monotone.

"Nah," Duo answered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"You'll just roll over. Let it lie." Disapproval, then, as if Heero Yuy expected more from him.

"Actually, you're right," Duo shot back with mock-appreciation. "I'm gonna sue the whole goddamn colony. As long as Quatre hires my lawyer and you agree to be my character witness."

"I would." Heero took the glass back from him, returned it to the sink. "Never asked you to take the fall for me, none of us did. You can quit being a martyr any time now."

"So it's my fault."

"No, but it's your responsibility. You made a choice, Duo. You had a lot more faith in mankind than the rest of us."

"I wasn't wrong. I wasn't wrong to give it a fucking shot."

"Not about wrong or right, Duo." Heero placed a hand on his shoulder; Duo had to make a conscious effort not to flinch back from it. Heero saw the look and removed his hand. "It's always about right and wrong, with you. Peace is a gray area, right and wrong is for the wars we were sick of five minutes into it. Right and wrong is dropping a colony onto the planet, right and wrong is letting mobile dolls fight our battles for us, right and wrong is the argument we put to rest when we destroyed our Gundams in support of disarmament."

Seemed it was Duo's turned to be scolded by everyone today, even tight-lipped Heero Yuy. The effort was impressive, for Heero's part, even though Duo was still unreceptive enough not to give a shit about whatever the hell _anyone_ thought. Duo stepped back, grabbed his cap. "I'm going out."

"Okay."

At least Heero didn't seem to be harboring any self-disillusions about Duo Maxwell and his sense of right and wrong about free will, about going wherever the hell he wanted, whenever the hell he wanted to.

~*~

The Preventers building in Madrid was all steel and white stucco, dotted out on the front terrace with palm trees and local flora. Duo found himself standing outside for a long enough period of time that they eventually sent someone out. The kid was barely older than he was, early twenties, with cropped black hair and dark brown eyes. He came toward Duo with quick, purposeful strides, a starched white envelope--probably the sort that was eco-friendly--held carefully in one hand. Officer Kim, his breast plaque read, and instead of taking the envelope offered, Duo stared pointedly at his face and greeted him in Korean.

Kim's face went from olive to bright red in under two seconds. "Hi-Hello, sir," Kim replied in English. "_An nyoung ha seh yo_."

Duo wagged a finger at him. "You 'sir' me again, and I'll make sure you get demoted all the way back to Basic."

The kid blanched, taking him for his word--or aware enough of who he was to believe him should Duo get word back to Chang. Duo rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Jesus ever-loving Christ, kid. I was joking."

"Oh." Kim glanced back at the building and then tried to offer the envelope to Duo again. Again, Duo ignored it.

"I haven't had kimchi in ages," Duo said conversationally, meandering back towards the street, aware as the Preventer warily followed him out of the building's shadow. "You know any good places around here?"

Kim kept a distance of at least three paces, but continued to follow him to the end of the street. When Duo looked back over his shoulder, Kim offered an uneasy smile and an awkward shrug. "No place is better than mom's cooking. Sir...?"

"I was serious about the 'sir' thing," Duo said, turning to face him. "Name's 'Duo'. And you should know that."

"I do. I apologize. This," Kim said, lifting the envelope a third time. "It's a message from Deputy Director Chang."

"Deputy Director, huh?" The way the kid said his name was a little nauseating. Same sort of hero-worship that incited riots. Duo's eyes skipped down to the envelope and back up to his face. "Have you read it?"

"No, si-Duo. No, I haven't."

"Read it."

Kim shoved his pinky under the seal and lifted it. He produced a single sheet of paper, made of the same stiff parchment of the envelope, a series of zeros and ones littered across it. "I apologize. I can't."

"Give it here." Duo took it, glanced once at it, and then handed it back. "They don't teach you binary code in this joint?" A truly unbelievable concept, as Preventers were supposed to specialize in intelligence and communications.

Another interesting shade of red. "I meant, I shouldn't." Kim looked at it again, his mouth moving as he translated the code in his head. "It says-It says 'In times of change, learners inherit the Earth.'"

Duo's laugh began as a slow rumble at the back of his throat, one hand coming up to press against his mouth.

"'While the learned," Kim continued, glancing up at the noise in bewilderment, "find themselves beautifully equipped to deal with a world that no longer exists.'"

And the laughter became barking, a mad, shattering sound that made passersby stop and stare. Duo curled one arm around his middle, hand pressed against the stitch in his side until the hysteria passed. "Now he's quoting Hoffer to me?" Duo straightened, passing a hand over his eyes and composing himself. "Tenacious prick, isn't he? Next, it'll be roses and chocolates and a nice shiny bullet."

"There's more." Kim chewed at his bottom lip as he waited for Duo to acknowledge him. "It says 'Proposal for plausible rendezvous with zero one in fifty-six hours.'" Kim cleared his throat. "Aside from the after note, I thought it was rather beaut--"

"They pay you to think here?"

Kim straightened, at least enough pride in the guy to be affronted at that. "They do, actually, sir."

"What do you think that means?"

Kim's eyes flickered down to the code in his hands and back up again. "I have a feeling its more of a personal nature, sir. And also, I think he's alerting you to the fact he'll be dirt side in three days."

"Why on earth are you a Preventer?"

The rapid shift of conversation took him off guard, the subtle insult made Kim's face darken too. "With respect, sir, I was fourteen when my father died at Victoria, and I was fourteen when I joined Major Po."

Duo offered one of his better smiles for that, watching it work its magic. Kim eventually relaxed the iron set of his shoulders, lowered them when his body caught up with his brain at the idea that maybe, just maybe, Duo Maxwell wasn't going to fly off the handle and take a swing at him. "Guerilla," Duo murmured slowly, implicating a common bond.

Kim nodded, and then just as quickly shook his head. "We didn't have mobile suits, not until we met up with Major Po's naval contacts, and then we found--"

Duo stopped him with a short hiss, not entirely sure why the urgency for silence slammed into him. Maybe it was because they were so close to a Preventers building stock full with ex-OZ and ex-Alliance and ex-Rebels all sandwiched together and pressing their ears to some speakerphone transmitting the feed from the wire Kim was sure to be wearing. Fuck if Duo was going to be lead into that trap. Fuck if Duo was going to be lured into a conversation where Heero's gundam would come up, and speculation on who zero one was, and whether or not Duo knew his whereabouts. And fuck, the really shitty thing was that Duo knew Wufei didn't authorize the wire, but maybe it was standard procedure when meeting with a known terrorist, and Wufei probably assumed Duo would be smart enough to know when to shut the hell up.

Duo glared in the direction of the building. "Why did they send you? They think I'd get chummy with someone who played kid-soldier in the war? Someone who knew someone--And by the way, Sally has a terrible sense of humor, if we really wanna swap stories. She told me once--Don't." Duo held up a hand, stopping a third apology in its tracks. "Keep saying sorry for stupid shit, no one'll believe you when you're apologizing for something serious. Like running over your neighbor's dog."

"You've done that, sir?"

Duo laughed humorlessly and stuck his hands back in his pockets, the heat beating at his back from the midday sun just this side of annoying. His mood was curdling more by the second. He turned to leave, but Kim stopped him, one hand placed dangerously on Duo's person, upper-bicep, grip just tight enough to make its presence known and no more. Duo stared at it the hand until Kim removed it.

"For the record," Kim said softly, his face all severe and pained, that look people get when they've been caught but they still want to square with you, like they should have from the beginning--but as hindsight's always twenty-twenty... "For the record, I volunteered."

"Why?" Duo asked flatly, sick unto death of being idolized, and irritated because this one was old enough to know better. "For fucking why?"

Kim shrugged, gaze sliding sideways to the street behind Duo. "I'm a Preventer, now. I work, every day, to make things just a fraction better--and sometimes I fuck up and make it marginally worse. But the quirk is in the trying of it. Sir." Kim looked back at him. "When we forget why we do what we do, we'll turn into the thing we hate, the oppressor, the tyrant. We all know that. You help us remember. Takes a lot of guts to do that, to be that."

"Doesn't take courage to breathe," Duo disagreed. "I'm not a cause, never was. Just fought for one." Duo crossed the street, paused at the other side. "Is it worth it?" Duo called over his shoulder. "Even when you're fucking up?"

"Absolutely, sir. Duo."

~*~

There was something about Madrid that Duo grudgingly liked, something raw and old and unsettling. The presence of history alone isn't enough to awe a Spacer. Duo had been encased by the vacuum and eternity of space since birth, flown and fought in it, been enveloped by it. History was merely an arrogant child to the magnanimity of the universe, of the way galaxies stretch time and suns die and planets are born. History is awe-inspiring when you're staring at the Milky Way, knowing that a dead star is slowly sucking everything in. History is awe-inspiring when you crash on the moon and create a tiny nick in a massive crater, realizing something much bigger than you once punched a chunk out of something large enough to be its own planet, if not for the fleeting amount of low-gravity, and the powerful pull of Earth's.

But there was an impressive amount of fiery pride in the inhabitants of the city, as well as a great affection for one another. Never on L2 would Duo see two straight men in business suits strolling arm in arm down Grand Via. Never on L2 would the taxi service be compiled of sleek, black imported cars. Never on L2 would Duo see a university building older than the city itself.

Duo couldn't ignore the severe undertone of catholic influence here either. The cathedrals were breathtaking, and he assumed they'd be even more striking within. But Duo did not linger long enough to go inside any of them, having washed his hands of the debt he owed God and religion eight years ago when he took off Maxwell's collar. For him, it was never a matter of serving the church, of living vows and commiserating a lifetime away to some all-knowing being that had a certain recipe written out for you in Latin beholden with the admittance fee for Heaven. For Duo, it was always about people. People no one would ever remember except him, promises no one could keep except him, revenge no one would enact except him. It was about being defiant in the face of indifferent magnificence, demanding a chance to engrave history in their small corner of the universe, because no human ought to feel less than any other based on happenstance of birthplace and societal class and the lacking opportunity for education.

It was unsettling, here, because the city seemed to understand that very well, even having already been one of the largest centers for commerce and politics and edification since the time of the Moors and Visigoths, _hundreds_ of years ago.

_Fui sobre agua edificada, mis muros de fuego son_, a plaque read on the Manzanares River. _Esta es mi insignia y blasón_.

On water I was built, my walls are made of fire. This is my ensign and escutcheon.

Pride for a shield, pride for armor and a reason to exist. Yeah. Duo understood that, could definitely relate.

He took the metro until the day began to wane, seeking recluse underground and away from the overwhelming number of trees and cathedrals the city swelled with. Solace, in that, because at least the metro reminded him of home. It was dusk when he finally resurfaced and began to wander, slowly finding his way back downtown where the motel was. The night crowd was already pouring out into the busy streets, the hundreds of clubs, stretching several districts across the face of the capital, were lighting up, lines of people forming with hopes to get in early to their spot of choice.

Heero Yuy, to Duo's eternal shock, was standing in one of them.

"This your scene?" he asked incredulously, coming up to stand beside him and consequently making the other man jump. Heero looked at him wild-eyed for a moment, as if Duo had melted out of nowhere, before quietly stepping out of line. Duo followed him to the end of the street, where Heero turned again and regarded him seriously.

"I was looking for you."

"In there?" Duo looked back at the club. Modern and garish against the ancient architecture Duo had seen today, equipped to the nines with skylights, red carpet, and severe-faced door guards in suits and sunglasses. "You serious?"

Heero ran a hand through his hair, every bit the impatient, irritated gesture it looked. The amount of places Heero had looked for him before that one went unmentioned. "Have you eaten?"

A pause, for that, because Duo really couldn't remember right away. "No," he said slowly, and without conviction. Most of the day after...well _after_, had been a blur.

"You're not sure." Heero shook his head and took him by the elbow. "That's fine. I have a place in mind. What's that?"

"Oh, this?" Another odd moment of confusion. Somewhere between actually considering the Preventers for the first time since their creation and wondering idly if Heero would stick around if he committed to something permanent, Duo had wandered onto Paseo del Prado and bought five different photo albums at a tourist shop just outside of the _Golden Triangle of Art_. Of course, Duo never actually went _into_ the museums, just bought the albums and moved on. Finally, the uncertainty caught up with him, the indecision, the jitters. He fumbled with the handles of the bag he'd forgotten he was carrying, felt a flush crawl up his neck as he thrust the whole bag in Heero's arms and stalked across the street.

Wasn't even sure, really, what the photos were. Still. Heero's big mystery. They could be really incriminating shots of all the out of work soldiers from the war, the ones that all knew the others by name and face, dangerous to Heero Yuy even in his reclusive state. Duo didn't know. But really, he couldn't put it past Heero to obsess like that. Fifteen year old Heero Yuy might have, might have been driven restless by paranoia, might have dug a hole somewhere and made it his career to spy on anyone who'd ever seen him.

Or.

And this was what Duo had been banking on in the five minutes or so that it took to purchase the photo albums on a whim and move on.

Or. Maybe the reason Heero Yuy was a gazillion times more relaxed than he used to be was because he'd taken some 'normal' pills, and, you know, traveled a bit. Saw the world he saved, learned to appreciate it like Earthers rarely do.

Heero was at his elbow again, yanking him around and walking them in the opposite direction Duo was headed. The bag was held lightly in his other hand, barely a crease in his elbow under the strain of the heavy albums, made the damn bag look empty, the way he held it. But Heero had a way of doing that, like how tall people forget they're tall until they have to bend at the waist to hug their mother; Heero Yuy forgot he was strong until he was rattling someone's elbow out of socket in the interest of dinner.

Speaking of which. "You know what, actually," Duo said, balking outside the white building Heero was headed into, the name 'KIKUYU' in blue-glowing letters over the double-entry. "I'm not very hungry."

Heero stopped when he stopped, handing the man at the door the bag of albums and asking the host to give them a minute. They discreetly turned away, giving the two some privacy, and Heero immediately took Duo to the side.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just-I just don't want to eat here."

"Why."

"No reason. Just. It looks pricy, Heero. Not my sort of--"

"Thank you for the albums." Heero said quietly, suddenly. "I didn't expect that sort of generosity from you. I've eaten here before, Duo; it's very good food."

Of course, Duo was thrown. Thrown enough to notice Heero's hands on each of his arms, ready to shake him or draw him in, or even restrain him; a thousand times more dangerous than Kim touching him that afternoon, but Duo didn't even flinch. Thrown enough to understand the trick, the reason behind the low, soothing voice, the choice of words--and thrown enough not to care, to let it work. Duo took in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I look a mess."

Heero grabbed the tail end of Duo's wind-frazzled braid and undid it, pressed the band into Duo's palm and instructed him to put it up. Duo made fast work of his ponytail, keeping it loose and tied off at the base of his head, and shrugged out of his jacket as Heero ran fingers through Duo's fringe and made it seem like the fall of it was more style than accident. Duo tucked in his black shirt, buttoned it, and then resigned with a sigh to Heero unbuttoning most of what he'd fastened, and then rolling down his sleeves and fastening the cuffs. Duo had never in his life worn his shirt cuffs closed.

"There." Heero stepped back, tilted his head to the side. "No one will ever know you never wanted to be here."

Duo laughed a little, at that; his eyes not quite meeting his. Something about all this was working, affecting him, turning the tables again in Heero's favor. Damn bastard always had the trick of getting the upper hand without even trying. Playing tourists in Madrid, nice dinner, fastened shirt cuffs, Heero telling him what to do with his hair--something about it all was working, subduing him, making him just this side of nervous with anticipation, entertaining thoughts of forward planning. Dangerous. Heero stepped in and pressed his lips to the side of Duo's jaw.

"You look nice," he said into Duo's ear. There and gone again, like maybe, just maybe, it was Duo's mind fucking with him. Heero's fingers curled around his wrist, took Duo's jacket from him. "Now, let me feed you."

**To be continued...**


	5. Framework

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: Heero lingered in the doorway, wondering if he would go after Duo this time if he took off again. Wondered if he'd wait. Wondered if he'd just leave. Leave and go to Formentera alone.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered quotes of Duo-isms from the series.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Man, I'm something of an idiot today. Framework is chapter four, not three. I apologize for the mistake.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Four

**Framework**

AC 203

It's pretty obvious to anyone, that you're the bad guy here.

Never ceased to amaze Heero how huge Duo's eyes could get. Made up most of his face when he was startled, or suspicious. Heero gave Duo's jacket to the host, kept his grip firm on Duo's wrist as they waited for the man to return, and led Duo all the way to the table without letting him go. Just in case. Duo had been acting flighty all day.

Heero watched him take everything in as they sat; watched Duo's barely hidden dismay as the host pulled out his chair for him, watched him take note of every exit, count the heads in the room, frown at the multiple forks set to one side of his plate. Duo plucked the menu from its upright position in front of his setting, mouth moving and brows coming together in a fierce frown as he translated the clever mix of Spanish and Swahili. He glanced at Heero over the rim, and just as quickly back down again.

"You're trying to poison me."

"No," Heero disagreed with a small smile. To the waiter, who came in quietly from the left and filled their glasses with ice water, he ordered a bottle of spicy bourbon and listened patiently as the man told him the special.

Duo waited until the server left again, eyes flickering towards an elderly couple who entered the front of the restaurant. "You've been here before."

"I did say so, Duo." They'd changed it, a little. Instead of straight falls of sheer fabric from wall to ceiling, accented by stained boards of cherry wood, the fabric was twisted into strange patterns and braids now, the walls revealed as fractured treatments of dark ceramic and blue stones. An extended wing in the back as well, the addition closed off, probably reserved for VIP personnel. Heero sipped at his water, his gaze returning to Duo's, who dropped his again.

"I don't like carrots."

"I know. I remember." Up again, Duo's eyes, some bright violet shade that seemed so very unnatural on a human being. But it was Duo, and therefore, sort of normal. "I won't order you anything with carrots."

"Not sure I'm up for warm goat cheese or monkfish either. Why couldn't we have ordered a pizza?"

"The Kikuyu regulate their mating around goat herding, did you know?"

"God, what? No, I certainly did not know that. Wait." Duo's eyes went big and round again. "What do you mean, they regulate their mating around _goats_?"

Heero scratched at his jaw, looking over the menu. "Meaning, a Kikuyu male will only impregnate a wife once every thirteen years or so. Each child must be old enough to herd goats before the mother would be available to bare children again."

"Really." One amused, lop-sided smile. "So, let me guess. These Kikuyu, they're polygamous?"

"Yes." Heero put down the menu and reached for his water again. "A thousand years ago, they were based on a matriarchal system."

"You're showing off."

"I'm not showing off."

"A pizza wouldn't be showing off."

"I'm trying to be nice."

"You're rotten at it." Duo was still grinning, and trying to hide it behind his menu. The wine waiter returned with the bourbon.

Heero glanced at Duo before ordering for him, who shrugged and silently handed the attendant the menu. Heero ordered miso soup and wakame seaweed to start, knowing that Duo would recognize it and relax--and might even eat it. Octopus and potatoes _carpaccio_ next, then baby squids and tiger prawns on _Paella_ rice, poached hake, and grilled venison with quince jam. If he was lucky, and Duo helped him eat any of it, he might have room for desert after.

"No carrots," Duo reminded.

"No carrots," Heero swore.

"Kikuyu," Duo said abruptly, his smile becoming hard around the edges. "Kikuyu. Kenya. Nairobi. Victoria." His smile disappeared altogether. "What's going on in Africa?" An absurdly obscure reference, but Duo was intelligent. And he remembered. And Heero knew him enough to know how to bring it up. Sideways, because anything full-frontal would only put Duo on the defensive.

Heero shrugged, used his knuckles to push the bourbon across the table at Duo. He took it and poured himself a shallow glass, but left the second snifter empty at the shake of Heero's head. "The Kikuyu have been fiercely anti-colonial since...well, anyway. They want ESUN out of Nairobi altogether, which they recovered after OZ abandoned it. Kenya wants its country back. They're willing to fight for it."

"And ESUN's not willing to back off?" Duo took an angry swallow of the bourbon, choked a little at the sharp, unexpected burn. "Is there an election? Do they have parties in place? I don't know anything about these people."

"They know when to lie low. And they know when not to. They have a candidate, but the man wants to play by the rules. He won't incite a revolt. For now."

Duo coughed again, and set his bourbon back on the table. "For now."

Mauibi Kumbaki. Enraged at seventeen because the Alliance wouldn't allow him to enlist in an army crowding, uninvited, his country on the sole basis of his GEMA status, because he was from Othaya, because he was Kikuyu. Smart because he had nothing to do with his time during the war but learn, because when the Alliance crumbled, and OZ took its place, and Romafeller ignored the little guy because that's what they did best, Kenya damn near crumbled under the pressure of a war they had no part in, wanted no part in, and barely understood. So, smart, freshly educated Mauibi Kumbaki rejuvenates the Liberal Democratic Party, rallies generational NARC's, enlists and educates Kenyans in Nairobi of the National Alliance Party, and creates a general uproar. In AC 202, Mauibi Kumbaki kindly asks the Earth Sphere Unified Nation to respectfully remove themselves from the capitol, as they need the space for Parliament, for elections, for constitutional drafts, and the ESUN stalls. Not refuses, stalls. Because they're stupid, or respecting protocol, or both. Because Kenya hadn't been known as its own country since before the Alliance rested ministerial support back from the Head of State, nearly, God, fifty years ago? Eighty? Something; long enough that the country barely remembered what it's like to be free, to not be colonized for the sake of military strategic positioning. Long enough that the infant ESUN government freezes up, curls in on itself, and waits for someone to hand them a way out of this situation on a silver platter. They need Victoria, Preventers need Victoria, and if they back off and let Kumbaki take Nairobi, they'll take Victoria too, and that whole section of Africa is a blind spot they couldn't really afford. And then everyone wants the same thing.

Heero bit his lip, looked away. Of course. Someone always does. Small problem, in the great scheme of things, but it was another backslide. Another two steps backward, when the infant government had barely made a decent step forward. "It's militarily..."

"It's their country." Vehemence, in that statement. The man could hear the barest whisper about sovereignty and autonomy being disrupted from a people and he was all righteous fury, even if he knew next to nothing about them.

"I know, Duo." It's their country. Enough to stand up and do something. Used to be, at least. When, 'It's their country' was actually 'it's our colony', and five children descended to earth in machines built to destroy. Now, they were scattered. Half wanderers, half hiding in the open, one nestled in an organization that protected peace in any way they had to. And maybe that was what scared Duo about them, about Preventers. They were middle men, the grey area, exposed to take the fall for political agendas for the sake of peace, easily the whipping boy for countries like Kenya who've finally woken up and decided to be enraged that it took ESUN eight years to finally notice them as a separate nation, for the sake of peace--oh, and for the sake of peace, there was no longer a line between lie and truth. Everything is fine, thank you, and please, don't bother looking at the man behind the curtain.

For Heero, he had to look at the man behind the curtain. Had to know his name, where he grew up, why his sister doesn't like him, when he decided to marry what's-her-face and spawn three morbidly obese, idiotic children. Had to know. Because he was built that way. Wasn't a crime, to know. Sometimes he wished he didn't, after he found out. Wished he could un-know, because often knowing was overrated, and sometimes it was useless. Sometimes it wasn't.

Duo was doing another sweep of the room, his mouth frowning in the way it did when he was too busy thinking to control his expression, to remember to smile. Heero didn't doubt for a second that he'd peaked his interest with the reference, with the choice of restaurant because the subject was stewing in his brain, and Heero wasn't sure he'd be able to just sit back and watch this time. Again. Like dozens of other times. Because of one damn promise made to one damn girl in a mostly delusional state, concussed and exhausted and out of his mind.

The miso arrived. Heero watched Duo's severe expression freeze, and then melt back into the amused grin from before. Duo sent him a strange look, half-lidded and knowing, his smile revealing teeth every bit as sharp as they looked. Heero remembered.

Duo picked up his bowl and took a sip. "Quatre says hi."

Heero smiled, relaxed a little. Some of Heero's fondest memories from the war were of Quatre Winner, being impressed by him, a child aristocrat from old money who pulled his weight with a charisma and class that rivaled Trieze Kushrenada. A born leader, and most deserving of the success and stability he'd worked for over the years. There were a lot of qualities in Quatre Winner that mirrored the strength and poise Relena Peacecraft projected, walking, talking, breathing ideals that had enough courage to act on what they believed even when it wasn't popular, when it wasn't easy.

"Wufei wants to meet with you."

That startled him. Heero felt he'd been clear, in Brussels, that the Preventers were to leave Duo alone until he was ready. Inexplicable, the way his hackles raised, the way fury burned under the current at the mere notion that they would harass Maxwell. It had not been a small sacrifice, for Heero, to expose himself to them in that terminal not two days ago. His smile faded, and what replaced it must have been something of a scowl, because Duo lowered his bowl back to the table and leveled a look at him.

"I can tell him no," Duo said, tossing his head a little to scatter the fringe that had fallen into one eye. "I made a contact today. At the Preventers."

"You went willingly?"

"Just went to look." Duo's expression was odd, shuttered, like at the diner.

Heero took in a deep breath and held it, using the burn in his lungs to calm him down. Easy enough, well practiced. That was okay, it was okay if it was Duo's idea. "Wufei left a message for you."

"In so many words." Duo's smile was grim, now; a dark promise of deviance once Wufei became dirt side.

"When?"

"Three days."

"Duo."

"Yo."

"You thinking about it?"

A shrug for that. And then a shake of his head. Duo finished his miso. Heero neglected his, watching Duo's face for some clue, any clue. Nothing, he wasn't even looking at him now. Heero sighed, and abandoned his soup altogether. "I knew you would need permanence."

Duo shot him a glance. "Why don't you?"

"Not about not needing it." He looked devastating like that, it was hard not to notice. Hard not to stare. Still thin, but sturdier. Sinewy, muscle built from repetition, from necessity, from hard work. All hair and big eyes and dark, sharp angles. Heero had missed him. And it was easy to know that when he was sitting across from Duo, the tangible futility hanging unsaid between them. "I don't want to be anyone's weapon."

Duo sat back slowly, eyes hard and piercing, darker now, as if heavier with the knowledge. "But you stay plugged in."

"Have to." Heero looked away, looked at the hanging, twisting falls of fabric, the treated walls, the black satin vests the obscure wait staff wore. "Go crazy if I didn't."

"You miss it."

"Yes. We all do."

Duo wiped his mouth with a napkin, eyes still trained on him. "I trust you," he said bluntly, unexpectedly.

Couldn't help it then, Heero's eyes flickered to his, entrapped, stared hard. "Didn't at first."

"True," Duo admitted easily, and smiled.

The _carpaccio_ came next.

~*~

I'm sure a talented guy with your skills ought to be able to read my lips.

Duo was a good sport after that, and did in fact help Heero eat what was ordered. Many questions about what was what, why Mediterranean food was specialized at a restaurant named after a Kenyan tribe, even a few jokes, on Duo's part, and none too little flirting. Even so, they did not linger for dessert.

Duo seemed to dissolve into his jacket when he put it on outside by the street, shrugging into it with a contented sigh. It was a pitiful thing, the tattered jacket, but Heero knew enough about Duo and the odd attachments the man affixed to certain looks, certain items, not to comment. He'd seen Duo wear the same odd priest's collar and black jumper for an entire year before, at the close of the war of 195, he'd been able, or willing, to take it off. Duo was all about symbolism, double meaning, remembering.

Lest we forget, he'd say. Flippantly, in his way, as if it wasn't a loaded thing, an important sentiment. Lest we forget.

Heero, at times, wasn't all that sure what he was supposed to remember. Most days, Heero would like very much to forget.

Duo undid his hair, shook it out, and then expertly twisted it into a loose braid. Heero regarded the effect for a silent moment, idly wishing he'd thought of that before dinner. Looked better than the ponytail did. Duo slid his arm through Heero's, flashing him a grin, and they began the walk back to the motel. It wasn't until they'd reached the front entrance, and a group of teenagers loitering by the curb fell silent and stared at Duo full in the face, that Heero realized Duo wasn't wearing his cap, wasn't hiding his face. Duo realized it too.

Duo stiffened next to him, turned a stony face in the group's direction, his expression positively hostile when the kids didn't immediately look away. Heero moved his hand to Duo's elbow, gripped hard enough to distract him, and shook his head. Duo threw a final glare in their direction and went inside without Heero, storming up the narrow stairs to their room.

"There's nothing to see here," Heero told them quietly, and something in his tone must have resonated because the group quickly grabbed up their skateboards and crossed the street, eyeing each other as they went.

"I was asking for it," Duo said immediately, when Heero closed the door to their room behind him. "My fault. I've been walking around the city all day without--"

Heero held up one hand, stopping him. "We'll relocate in the morning."

Duo's expression was miserable, then. "Shouldn't have to. I was careless."

Heero shrugged. "Yes. We both were. I practically paraded you at Kikuyu. It's fine. We'll find a rhythm. It's been a long time for you, since it's been necessary." Heero hesitated, noting Duo's odd expression. "We'll find a rhythm."

Duo made a noncommittal sound, eyeing him strangely. He ran a hand through his bangs, rubbed the side of his face. "Well, anyway."

Heero nodded jerkily, knowing that the atmosphere had become weird, awkward, but not certain why. He went into the darkroom and re-emerged with several stacks of photos. He'd already separated them into sections, arranged in ideas, spreads that told stories, and hoping the images could tell those stories for him because Heero wasn't sure he'd be able to do them justice if he put his own words to it.

Duo shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the side, rolled up his sleeves, plopped down on the bed. Heero sat next to him, setting the piles of photos atop the duvet. Duo reached out for one, but withdrew his hand, waiting for Heero's cue. Shoulder to shoulder, Heero showed Duo the first set.

Greenland; an expanse of endless white. Cavernous icebergs, treacherous and beautiful. An Inuit tribe, a black-haired girl with a large dog. The dog interested in something to his left, the girl interested in the photographer, staring up shyly at him through dark lashes. Wind-leathered faces of men and women who looked older than they were, suspicious and wary, even as the children edged closer and closer with each new photo. A meal of fish and broth, tiny bones set to one side of a broad plate.

Rome; abandoned mobile suits set afire and smoldering among ruins. Ruins old and crumbling, ruins fresh and blackened with ash. Rome again; paint over graffiti, half-complete. Pedestrians thick in the streets, looking at everything except the camera. Relena Peacecraft at a civilian convention, speaking to the throng, impassioned with the art of giving people hope, the will to move forward.

Africa; men and women with skin darker than night and teeth whiter than snow grinning cheerily. Children with rifles, much younger than they had been, jaded expressions and tired postures. Fishermen with nets and missing limbs, gathering fish at low-tide, the sunset glorious at their backs. A herd of fourth-generation elephant clones, guiding their young to a water hole. Posters depicting broad-faced aristocrats trampled on dirt roads. Millions of faces staring through a metal fence, forgotten refugees.

Heero showed Duo every single photo, every single shot he'd taken. Hundreds of photos, frozen moments post-war. Depictions of shrapnel yards, miles of broken meccas discarded during battle, the crews sent out to purge them, to send the metal up to space for Sweepers, for mechanics, for black market pseudo businessmen. Riots in city streets, some civil now, some...not as much. Cultures old and new, cultures mysterious and fiercely private. Rallies for peace, for disarmament, for unification. France, Japan, Uganda, Panama, Ukraine, Libya, New Zealand, Afghanistan, on and on and on. Eight years of watching growth, of leveling stability, of commitment, of abandonment, for better or worse.

Duo took every photo Heero handed him, regarded each with equal, quiet severity, touching some faces with the tip of his finger, mouth quirking at others, frowning at some. Utterly silent until they'd gone through them all, utterly silent for four and a half hours. Duo leant forward, elbows on his knees, when they were done, staring into space for a long moment. Then he stood and crossed the room, returning with the bag he'd given Heero earlier that evening.

"Should have bought more albums," he said.

They moved to the floor, spreading out the albums and dividing the photos between them. Duo helped him select which ones made it into the books, and which ones did not, setting the latter aside in a messy pile.

"It's easy to forget, on-colony," Duo commented as they worked. "That Earthers...that this..."

"Universal," Heero responded quietly. "War hurts everyone. It resonates."

"Earth isn't..." Duo paused, nearly missing the beat, pausing over one photo of a soldier finding his wife among the multitude crowding a dock. "Earth isn't just an idea, when I see these. Reminds me of the Corps, when Quatre and I hid in the desert. They were--they were really nice to us."

"Quatre was their prince." Heero slid a photo into a sleeve, frowned when it set at an odd angle. "Is that really so strange, that they'd be kind to you?"

"Was to me, at the time," Duo said quietly. "Wasn't used to that."

"Could have fooled me. You were very...overt, for a colonial."

"You mean, for a street punk." Duo looked at him thoughtfully. "It's actually not that hard to smile at a guy you're pretty sure you might have to shoot later."

For Duo, that was probably true. "You shot me first, and grinned later."

"I sure did." Duo tossed two photos into the messy pile, but kept a third for an album. "You smile more, now. I think all this was good for you."

"Might be good for you too."

No answer to that. Might never be an answer to that.

"Saw a few of Relena," Duo murmured, head bent over his task.

"She's a figurehead."

"None of the rest of us."

Heero stopped then, waited for Duo to look at him. "There's more."

Heero took Duo into the darkroom. It felt over-small with the two of them in it, and it reeked of developer, of fixer, of chemical stained water. In the tub, in the basins filled with developer, was another stack of photos. Duo knelt and grabbed a handful, compound dripping from his fingers as he stood again. Heero turned and watched Duo through the mirror, watched him carefully inspect the images, another hundred or so. The red light looked demonic on Duo's angular features, the dark, blood-like shadows on his face, shaped by long strands of hair loose from his braid, jagged points all over his brow, his jaw, his neck. Heero watched his frown become deeper, morph into a scowl, then a thin line.

Photos of Trowa Barton and his circus. The falling out with Catherine Bloom, images of the day the circus left without him. Photos of Quatre Winner and his family, images of the media that hounded him, the politicians he funded, the children whose education he paid for. Of Rashid and the rest of the Corps, of their hidden mobile suits, still whole even after the disarmament amendment.

Photos of Chang Wufei. On missions, at home, doing paperwork at his office, having brunch with his partner Sally Po and Directorate Une. Training recruits, out on reconnaissance, entering an inconspicuous vehicle on-colony.

Photos of Duo. Photos of Hilde, and her new husband. Images of Maxwell Scrap and Duo bartering with a burly Sweeper. Of Howard, employed by the Preventers' Directorate of Science and Technology, upgrading a naval ship. Of--

Duo discarded the photos carelessly, letting them tumble from his fingers and scatter on the floor. His expression was blank, void, when he met Heero's gaze in the reflection, but his eyes were thunderous, black and flashing in the red light. It didn't take a lot of movement, no big gesture of effort, for Duo to shift and press against Heero from behind, to meld their bodies together, to press his lips against the side of Heero's neck. Duo's breath was hot on his skin, moist, terribly familiar. Heero closed his eyes, knowing Duo was angry, knowing it was a tease. Knowing it would be over way too soon.

His mouth moved up Heero's throat, to his ear, to flesh just behind it. A small kiss, breath stirring Heero's hair, his voice a rumble in his ear when Duo finally spoke. "Ever thought about stopping by to say hi?"

Shivers now. Heero clenched the edge of the sink. "Crossed my mind." Heero pushed away from the porcelain, turned so he was facing Duo, instead of vulnerable to him. "Once or twice."

"Once or twice," Duo echoed, his mouth so close, barely touching. But god, was _this_ familiar. "One or two. One _and_ two."

No effort. Effortless. A brush of lips, commingled breaths, just a touch of tongue. Duo's teeth sank into Heero's bottom lip, quick, a slash of pain, and then he was gone. The door slammed open as relief slammed into Heero like a blow. It was over; and Heero knew what would come next. He'd left the photos in the developer on purpose. Duo tore the plastic down, invading the bathroom with light. Heero squinted against the sudden brightness, watching the images blacken on the floor by his feet.

But Duo did not leave like he expected him to, didn't storm off back down the street like Duo might've. He merely kicked off his boots, stood in the center of the room, stared at nothing. Heero lingered in the doorway, wondering if he would go after Duo this time if he took off again. Wondered if he'd wait. Wondered if he'd just leave. Leave and go to Formentera alone.

Duo's voice floated over to him, distant because it was aimed in the opposite direction. "I'm really tired."

"You didn't sleep today."

"Yeah."

Silence, then; frozen, because Duo didn't move and neither did he.

Heero had never been all that uncomfortable with silence. He rather liked the quiet, actually. But knowing a person like he knew Duo made it stifling, prickly. Especially when the only tune they seemed to know how to dance to was leaving things unsaid. "I can understand you feel I invaded your privacy."

Duo's laugh was short and harsh. "Not that, Heero." His back still to him, his words bouncing off the opposing walls. "I sort of expected it when I saw the camera in your duffle."

"Is it about the yard, then? That I didn't stop it?"

"No. I didn't stop it. Preventers didn't stop it."

Heero crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the floor, his patience with this whole affair beginning its treacherous tumble to nonexistent. He would never in his life figure this man out. "Then what," he grated.

"Hilde left two years ago. Would have been nice to have someone to talk to."

That landed like a bomb exploding in his head. "I'm not...I'm not qualified for that."

Another laugh, but no commitment behind it. Breathy, because Duo must be as exhausted as he claimed. He was; Heero noted the dark smudges beneath his eyes when Duo turned to look at him, the slump of his shoulders. "You're incredibly thick, sometimes."

Duo rubbed both hands over his face, palmed at his eyes, and made his way over to his bed. He slipped under the duvet, fully-clothed, and curled toward the wall. Heero regarded his own bed for a moment, in disarray from their abandoned project. Approaching dawn made the sky a dark grey. Heero drew the curtains closed, turned off the light. He found his duffle in the darkness, by the bathroom where he'd left it. Duo's bed dipped under his weight, the lamplight was weak when he turned it on but it did what it needed to. Heero curled around Duo, snaked his arm around his chest, slid the postcard under his limp hand. Duo's fingers tightened on the postcard, lifted it so he could see it without moving his head.

"I haven't been here yet."

Duo placed the postcard on the sheet, moved his fingertips over the glossy image. Sprawling, white beaches, clear, turquoise water, thatch huts and scattered palm trees. "Looks like paradise."

"Formentera," Heero corrected, resting his chin on Duo's shoulder.

"Any political unrest there?"

"No."

"Preventers?"

"No."

"Bourgeoisie?"

"No."

"_Sounds_ like paradise too."

"I never understood why Hilde moved off-colony. You two never seemed...involved."

"Dean thought I was a discontent."

"Not untrue."

"No, but Hilde wanted a life I couldn't provide her, being gay and all. Dean was a good excuse to be gracious about it." Duo shifted, rolled completely inward so his face was buried somewhere between Heero's nose and chest. His arms came up instinctively around Duo's shoulders as he settled. "Miss her. Yard wasn't worth it without her."

"That why you let it happen?"

"Maybe. Wasn't a conscious thing. Just...I don't know. Anyway, you been sending Wufei signals? You said something about parading me."

Heero grinned, thankful Duo couldn't see it. He reached behind him and switched off the lamp. "Yes and no." That was more or less about having dinner with _someone_, someone he knew, someone he was hoping he wouldn't chase away. Again.

"Ah." Duo's arm, warm and heavy, rested in the dip of Heero's waist. Duo yawned mightily, became heavier in his arms. "Alright, then. Will you see him?"

"Will it piss you off?"

"Don't know yet." Could always count on Duo to be honest.

"Sleep, Duo."

"Working on it. Would help if you canned it."

Heero grinned again, and closed his eyes. "Okay."

~*~

I'm not asking you to trust me, or anything. But right now, I'm the only friend you've got.

Heero had them checked out of the motel and another room reserved by the time Duo stirred, miraculously, before ten in the morning. After Duo showered, and had his ritualistic coffee, they gathered up the photo albums, bagged the excess photos, careful not to mix them with the ones not yet affixed inside the books, and packed up the computer. Duo seemed to like the new hotel better, standing in the middle of the room and grinning towards the terrace on the other side of the twin beds.

"Do you think it'll rain tomorrow?" Duo asked, pulling the curtains to the side and tying them off.

"This time of year, it's certainly possible."

"Hm." Duo pulled the window open and stepped out onto the gated ledge. "S'nice out."

Heero stuffed his duffle and the albums into a dresser drawer. "Did you see the sights yesterday?"

"The sights?" Duo turned slightly to look at him, a bemused half-frown dangling on his face. "Ehm, no. I rode the metro."

"You rode the metro." Heero stepped out onto the terrace next to him. A slight breeze moved in from the south, from the sea, over the Manzaneres. The sky was too hazy and brightly blue to make out any clouds on the horizon. "Homesick?"

Duo shrugged, but the grin was back. "Mostly the trees freak me out."

Heero stared at his face, trying to decipher whether or not this was a joke at his expense. "You're afraid of trees." Otherwise, that would have to be the single most--

"There's a freaking ton of them in this city," Duo snapped defensively, his grin slipping.

"You're afraid of trees."

"Fuck you, Heero; I never said that."

"Of _trees_."

Duo was scowling in the direction of downtown, but Heero could see the smile that was quirking in the corner. An idea slithered into Heero's brain, mild as milk, and he put a voice to it. "Come to the park with me." And then, just because he couldn't help it, he added: "I promise to protect you."

Duo punched him, hard enough to actually hurt, square in the chest.

Heero took him to _Parque del Retiro_ and set out south-east towards the _palacio de cristal_. The park wasn't over-crowded today, but there was still a generous amount of tourists and locals lazily circling the lake, walking their dogs, or boating. Duo seemed to brighten among the crowd, under the sun. And for the first time since he came to Earth, Duo became chatty.

"This sure beats the hell out of the parks on L2," he said. "Yasmine's doing this new thing at Quat's pad, with this massive fountain thing. She's rigged it to tunnel water through the foyer and all the outer rooms, and they have these massive goldfish; anyway. Quatre hates it, because it makes the library noisy. Trowa thinks it's relaxing, but then again, they haven't been agreeing on much lately."

And Heero found himself relaxing, relief sinking into his bones. It wasn't so much that Duo Maxwell used to be overly talkative. He hadn't been. Rather, Duo had spoken more to Heero Yuy than anyone had ever been brave enough to, entertaining one-sided conversations until Heero could no longer stand there and watch Duo Maxwell talk to himself.

Thus, smiling a little, Heero said: "How is Trowa?"

"Trowa is Trowa," Duo said, pausing when a massive Labrador bounded up to them. He put his hands in his pockets, eyeing the dog warily, as Heero bent to pet her. "And there's not much to be said for that anyway. Guy can be something of a tool. It's just weird that he's living there."

"Why is that weird," Heero asked absently, scratching the dog behind the ears and smiling politely at the breathless teenage owner as he caught up to them. "I didn't know you didn't like him."

"Hm? Ah, no, it's not so much that I don't like him." The boy fastened a leash to his dog's collar, murmured an apology, and moved on. "I like him as much as I like you, sometimes. It's just that I like Quatre better."

They started forward again. "You like Quatre better than me?"

Duo grinned at him and hooked their arms together. "Absolutely."

They did not talk about politics, or war, or Preventers, which was a nice change of pace. But Duo did ramble on for nearly forty minutes on a new machine he'd built to compress metal, talking excitedly about each component and miming the operation with his hands. Interesting enough, but Heero was wary it would lead into more grieving over his yard. It didn't thankfully, but that was mostly because they strolled into the _Bosque de los Ausentes_. Duo became quiet, reading the plaque and then gazing out over the bridge, where one hundred and ninety two olive trees and cypresses were set in rows, amidst immaculately groomed lawn and landscape. They crossed the bridge.

"Do you think," Duo said, once they had reemerged from the Forest of the Departed. "Do you think they'll build monuments to anyone else, like they did for Trieze, and _Barge_, and _Peacemillion_?"

That had been an odd day, when they set up memorials for the Eve Battle, commemorating bravery and sacrifice of those who died. Wufei had been bitter, snarling at anyone who came near him, and disappearing shortly after. Quatre and Trowa had been closer then, standing together near the back to represent the Winner Foundation, somewhat sucker punched into helping fund the memorial, their identities still anonymous even when half the officials present knew who they were. Heero had been there, but did not make his presence known. Duo never came. That had upset Relena, because in her mind, the memorial was for all of them, even if they weren't dead. In her mind, it was an honor.

In Duo's, it was a sick parody. The Eve Battle was necessary to close a long and confusing war, with hundreds of thousands dead even though there were often no clear enemy, no clear sides, armies crushed under armies before anyone knew who was in charge. All the same, it was twisted. Wufei took out Trieze, and Trieze became a hero. Heero stopped Libra, but barely anyone remembered that anymore. The rest--the rest was just mayhem. Duo told him, when Heero had ventured to L2 for his help in freeing Relena, Duo told him he would have rather they used that money to build new homes for war victims. It was stupid, he said, to celebrate idiocy and mayhem, to remember a blackened scab on the face of their new peace. He said it was ridiculous.

"I don't know," Heero said. "But I'd like you to see Atocha Station before you start brooding."

"Holy shit." Duo gaped at the four thousand square meters of tropical plants inside the railway station. It was muggy inside, due to the moisture and the warmth outside, but because the day was so beautiful, most of the sightseers were at the park and not in the station.

"I swear to you," Heero murmured. "None of these plants will harm you. On my honor."

"Ha ha, go fuck yourself." Duo ventured over to a pond and pointed. "Yeah, bro, Quat's goldfish are huge like these."

Heero slipped an arm around his waist and propped his chin on Duo's shoulder. "Does he have turtles too?"

"What is this?" Duo leant his head back, covered Heero's hand with his. "A 'my dick is bigger than your dick' contest? With Quatre?"

"No," Heero kissed Duo's neck. "Yasmine."

Duo laughed. "Man, I don't know. I think Yasmine might just..." Duo was suddenly stiff in his arms.

"What is it?"

"Preventers," he said shortly, like the word was a bad flavor in his mouth. "Fucking following me. God dammit." Duo took a deep breath. "_An nyoung ha seh yo!"_

A young man jerked violently, across the terminal, mostly obscured by a massive cactus. His shoulders seemed to slump, before he squared them and came around the plant, trailed by another Preventer, a local Spaniard. Duo disentangled himself from Heero, obscuring Heero from the Preventers' line of sight with his body. Heero felt an ironic smile tug at his lips, amused that Duo would think to protect _him_.

"What, no kimchi," Duo said as the first man paused in front of him. "You fuckin' fail, bro."

"Duo," the man greeted. "How are you?"

"I'd be better if I didn't have a pair of Preventers in my shadow."

The Preventer addressing Duo gestured to his Spanish partner. "Duo, this is--"

"I don't need to know who he is," Duo said with a shake of his head. And when the Preventer's gaze drifted behind him to Heero, Duo said: "And vice versa."

"You weren't at your motel this morning," the Preventer said, spreading his hands in a placating gesture, eyes returning to Duo's face. "We needed to locate you."

Heero narrowed his eyes at the Spaniard, who shifted and glanced at his partner nervously. But the Preventer was focused solely on Duo.

"The fuck you do, Kim," Duo said.

"Deputy Director--"

"Look at my face," Duo interrupted. "Do I look like I have ever given a rat's ass where Chang fucking Wufei wants me?"

"I can appreciate your position, sir--"

"You 'sir' me again, Kim, and I'll punch you in the fucking throat. I swear to God."

Heero almost laughed, doing his best to look in another direction. Even though Kim seemed to have already been dosed with Duo's abrasive tough-guy routine, he believed him and paled.

Kim closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. "Duo," he said in a low, measured voice. "Duo, please. Deputy Director Chang will be here in two days. At least stay in Madrid until then. Please. I really can't afford a demotion."

"How good are you at sucking dick?"

Heero bit the inside of his cheek. It was viciously amusing to see someone else on the wrong end of Duo's verbal offensive for once. The Preventer, Kim, spluttered, while the Spaniard took a threatening step forward. Kim put an arm out, raising his chin stubbornly even as a hot flush invaded his face.

"Because," Duo continued, jabbing a thumb back in Heero's direction, "unless you're better at blowing me than he is, I go where he goes."

Two pairs of Preventer eyes flickered to Heero, who shrugged, still biting back a laugh, and then swiveled back to Duo. Kim ran a hand over his face, looking defeated.

"And you can tell him," Duo said in a gentler tone. "That if he demotes you over this, I'll take it as a personal insult. He knows I have enough shit on him to fuck up his entire world." Kim straightened at that, shared a long look with his partner, and then forced a smile at Duo.

"I appreciate that. Thank you."

"Jesus, Duo," Heero murmured when they had gone. Duo turned a wide-eyed expression in his direction. "Was that your contact? You're going to give him a complex."

A small shift of his shoulders, an unapologetic grin. "It was damn funny."

Heero scratched at his neck. "We should sweep the room when we get back."

"Yep."

"And no more names out in the open."

"Yep."

"It was a little funny," Heero conceded.

"Bet your ass it was." Duo crouched to smell a bright yellow flower, stripes of orange and black streaking from the center. "I like this one. What's it called?"

"Duo, I have no idea."

Duo didn't have to say it out loud for Heero to know; they were going to wait for Wufei. And God help him when he got here.

**To be continued...**

**Dyna: **I know, right? Thanks for reading!


	6. KimchiFlavored Humble Pie

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: Melting clocks. In the age of fallout, memory will persist—even if nothing else does.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered quotes of Duo-isms from the series.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: I've been looking forward to this chapter since I began the fic, because we learn A LOT in a few very short moments. This chapter officially closes the Madrid arch, and marks the beginning of Duo and Heero's partnership. This is fun, because I can get more into the plot now, which has been identified since the beginning but purposely left unclear in the interest of mystery.

Oh, and in case there is any confusion, I'm pretty sure the original "Persistence of Memory" oil painting by Salvador Dali is in New York...but I thought, hey, this is futuristic, so its could be assumed that the painting would return to Spain at some point in the last hundred years.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Five

**Kimchi-Flavored Humble Pie**

AC 203

Heero paused in front of a painting, and Duo paused with him. They'd chosen to wander art museums today, which was perfectly fine by Duo. In fact, it was more than fine. It gave them something to do that didn't include waiting around the hotel for their ultimate stand-off with Wufei, who was supposed to be in Madrid at some point that day. Okay, at least _Duo's_ ultimate stand-off with Wufei, because Heero, specifically, didn't seem to care much about the matter at all. Duo had the feeling that if it weren't for his decision to wait for the Preventer, they'd be somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean by now.

Weird. They'd stopped by this painting already. Twice, actually. Heero seemed drawn to it, peering at it with this oddly suspicious glare, like it was a particularly difficult prisoner to interrogate. Duo squinted at the plaque, reading the inscription. _La Persistencia de la Memoria_ ~ Anno Domini 1931; Salvador Dali. Duo straightened, taking the time to look at the painting. Instead of appreciating the art at the museum, Duo had spent this fine morning being twitchy, glancing at every security camera, memorizing faces, marking exits—everything Heero did, but as silently and as effortlessly as the man breathed. But third time's a charm, as they say, and Duo's eyes moved over the canvas. Melting clocks. Huh.

"Did you mean it?" Heero asked suddenly, looking at him.

"Uh." Melty clocks apparently made his brain sluggish. Duo was caught off guard, and sent him a startled glance. "Which 'it'? I say a lot of things."

"What you said to Kim. That you go where I go."

Enough to make Duo smile. Really smile. "Yeah, Heero. I meant that." Because he did. Duo may not know, precisely, what the hell he was doing with Heero, what he was weaving their friendship into, but he at least felt like he'd gotten the upper-hand again, and that made him content, made him feel safe. Nice, too, that Heero would let him wrest control, give him the pace, the lead. At least they weren't fighting anymore. At least they'd gotten past that.

Heero's gaze dropped to his mouth, like on the train, only this time Duo didn't think Heero was plotting a dirty trick. Heero's expression was odd, somewhere caught between blank and painfully open, like he was revving up the guts to do it—Jesus Christ, in front of everyone and their third cousin twice removed. He wouldn't. Duo almost panicked, because he looked like he might've. Duo's breathing hitched, his pulse seemed to sharpen in his gut—but Heero didn't. God, how long again? Too long. Weirder and weirder and weirder. _Peacemillion_ was a thing brought on by stress and exhaustion, carefully initiated behind locked doors and never spoken of again. Not even the others, who knew of course. It was a ship. There were no secrets on a ship. But it was ignored; because things like that didn't need to be explained. And Duo found himself not being able to quite meet Heero's gaze after he moved half a step away. He looked back at the painting. Melting clocks. Time got skewed in memories that wouldn't quite let go. At least that much made sense. Duo glanced at the camera to his left, to the couple that wandered by, to the mother shushing her toddler down the corridor. At his tattered watch, that read it was fourteen past noon.

Rules were different now, facilitating events not as rushed, nor as dangerous. Neither of them expected to die in a few hours, and they weren't alone. Melting clocks. It went unmentioned because it was natural on a battleship, natural to snatch an hour away from the mayhem of war in some dark place, to use the nerves for a different conduit, so one could go into the next fight a little calmer, a littler more clear-headed. They weren't on _Peacemillion_. There wasn't a war, a battle to fight. Sure, Duo was on edge because Preventers was breathing down his neck, _Wufei_ was breathing down his neck, but if they became intimate, it would be a different game, a romantic one, and Duo was as crap at that game as he was at Monopoly. Fifteen past noon now. The toddler was crying, the mother picked him up. Rent-a-cop to their left sparing the two of them a lazy glance.

And Duo wasn't quite sure he was ready to fuck up his friendship with Heero. It'd barely been a week. Heero was stiff beside him, turned again to glare at the painting. Duo knew he should say something, a joke, a consoling gesture, anything. But because he didn't know what the hell he was doing, he didn't. Weird that the clocks would actually _melt_. Rent-a-cop looked away, moved away, to ask the mother to control her child.

"You like this painting." Duo gestured to it.

"I do."

"What does it mean?"

Heero turned to look at him, glaring still, but not in the way that suggested he was angry or anything. "What do you think it means?"

"I think it's fuckin' weird."

Heero smiled a little, for that, a lift in his frowning brows. "It's about now, about the 'after'. The fallout." He turned back to it. "Not entirely off the mark," he added softly."

Okay. Duo frowned at the painting. Weird _and_ depressing. Rent-a-cop was gone, escorting the mother and her child to the cafeteria. Time to go. "Let's get out of here."

Wufei was waiting for them in their hotel room when they got back. Flipping through Heero's photo albums, sitting casually on the bed. Duo shot a look towards Heero as he let the door swing shut behind them. Heero didn't like it, but he didn't seem about to charge at Chang either. Wufei noticed too, Heero's expression. He closed the album and set it on the bed beside him. The bathroom door was closed; Heero moved to the wall beyond the handle.

Wufei wasn't in dress blues today; khakis and Preventer-issued jacket instead. Duo wondered if the casual attire was meant to put them at ease. Wufei stood, gazing intensely at Heero, who had relaxed immensely when Wufei put down the photo album, when Heero had settled into a proactive offensive to his anonymity against the wall.

"Heero," Wufei said, the amount of affection in that single word enough to throw Duo off balance. "It's very good to see you."

"Likewise," Heero nodded, a smile on his face that was a little more than polite. Duo's nerves were beginning that quick, blackened plunge into dangerous. Duo glanced at the bathroom door.

Wufei's black eyes flickered over Heero's shoulder. "Duo."

Duo's chin jerked up by way of greeting, returning the Preventer's gaze.

Wufei was already looking at Heero again. Duo was getting the impression this visit was more for Heero then it was for him. It shouldn't have bothered him, it should have relieved him. Wufei gestured to the bed, to the photo album. "Seems you've been keeping your own advice."

"Of course." Heero smiled again. "You've done very well with it yourself."

"Thank you." Wufei seemed younger then, almost vulnerable. He put his hands in his pants pockets, glanced at the floor. "It's not as difficult now as it was at the beginning."

"Good."

It was definitely obvious they were speaking about something Duo had never been made aware of, a continuation of some private conversation they'd had another time. Melting clocks indeed. Duo moved very quietly towards the terrace, intent on letting them have their conversation privately. Of course, Wufei had other ideas.

"How did you like the museum," Wufei asked quietly, just as Duo moved by him.

Duo smiled, taking the bait, grinning because he knew he would really only need a little push to lose his shit all over L5's surviving miscreant. "About that—"

"Duo, you know it's necessary that we keep an eye on you. Your record pre-colony wars are enough for your name to be on our lists. The faster you reconcile that, the faster we can reach a win/win here." Wufei's stare was all intense severity when Duo finally turned to regard him.

"Actually," Duo said slowly. "I was going to say that you shouldn't put the fear of God into inferior officers when you know damn well that not even you could trace me if I didn't let you. Poor kid thought he was going to get demoted if I skipped town."

Wufei shrugged unapologetically, a rare smile hovering over his lips. "I was counting on your feeling sorry for him."

"You bastard." Duo straightened, his mouth curling into an even broader grin. "That's not playing fair."

The toilet flushed, the sound of a faucet. Heero became immobile, Duo turned fully towards the bathroom, ready to meet whoever's been hiding in there since they came in. Christ, that was hardly fair either.

It was fucking, goddamned Sally Po. Duo wanted to surrender and throw in the towel the moment the door opened and the woman stepped out of the bathroom. She threw him a dazzling smile, which Duo answered with a sullen scowl.

"Oh, fuck that." Duo turned and mimed a dodge for the terrace.

"Don't even think about it, Duo Maxwell. Get your butt over here and hug me."

She smelled good, really good. Not fruity or flowery, just clean and fresh and bright. The woman smelled like spring. When Sally finally released him, Duo felt subdued, even a little sleepy. Women like Sally Po always made Duo want to curl up into a ball and let them spoon feed him soup.

"Have you been starving him?" Sally demanded over her shoulder with a frown, grabbing Duo's chin and turning his face this way and that. "He's way too thin. Duo, hon, you're way too thin."

"Am not."

Heero was smirking behind her.

"Are to. In fact." Sally stepped back, threw a grin and a small wave in Heero's direction, and grabbed a satchel by the dresser. "Seems you've made quite the impression on Preventer Kim, you shameless flirt." Sally retrieved several containers from her satchel and shoved them into Duo's arms. "Eat that," she commanded.

Duo sighed and used his nose to push back the tin foil covering the topmost in his tower of Tupperware. Radish kimchi. Duo laughed aloud and set the containers on the dresser. Cabbage and cucumber kimchi there was also, a zip lock bag of Korean pancakes, and a larger container of steamed rice. "I am not a shameless flirt," Duo disagreed as he unwrapped a set of chopsticks. "I happen to exercise a fair amount of humility when I flirt. Gives me ambiance."

Heero snorted; and Sally zeroed in on him next. Duo met Wufei's calculating stare in the reflection of the mirror above the dresser, brandishing his chopsticks. Wufei rolled his eyes.

Sally's presence did what it was intended to do, and Duo had to give Wufei credit for thinking it. She kept the conversation light-hearted and friendly for a whole twenty minutes as Duo dumped all the kimchi into the rice bowl and stirred, eating a pancake and licking the grease off his fingers. Wufei unpacked his briefcase, carefully laying out files on one of the beds as Sally occupied Heero. Duo peered over Wufei's shoulder.

"Sharing sensitive material with known terrorists, Chang? Tsk, tsk."

Wufei jumped and whirled a glare at him. Duo smiled and bit into a radish, chewing noisily as Wufei picked up one manila folder. Heero and Sally drifted over to stand beside them. Wufei offered the folder to Duo. "L2's RE Commission sold your lot to—"

"I don't care."

"Fine." Wufei tossed the file back onto the bed and picked up another. He opened it, pulled out a glossy photograph and flipped it so Duo could see the image. "Do you recognize this man?"

Mid-thirties, sandy blond hair with a groomed beard and a friendly smile. Brown eyes, shadowy because of the light the picture was taken in; he looked like he was in the middle of telling a very pleasant story. "No."

"Never? You're sure?"

"I said I didn't." Duo finished the radish, blinking away the tears brought on by the spicy sauce it was fermented in.

Wufei selected another photo from the file. Duo could feel Sally's gaze on him like hot coals, gauging his reaction. "He was with the mob that torched your place."

Duo stabbed his chopsticks into his rice and took the photo. Same man, an oddly calm expression on his face as he hurled a glass bottle of gasoline topped with a flaming rag at Maxwell Scrap. Duo wondered, idly, if he'd been inside at the time the photo was taken. Duo swallowed his mouthful and licked his lips. The spice was burning his mouth, warming the pit of his stomach. Wufei's voice floated to him as if from a dream.

"He's a journalist. His family died in the war, when Colony L4-XX137 exploded. His research has been committed to unraveling the identities of the Gundam pilots, to finding evidence on who was responsible for his family's deaths."

Duo returned the photo, turning his face towards the terrace, where sounds from the busy street below wafted in. Colony L4-XX137. "Quatre," was all he said.

"Yes."

"Did the journalist incite the riot?"

"We're not ruling that out, but finding the source of a mob is never simple."

"Does he think I did it?"

"We're not sure. We're thinking the riot might have been some sort of warning. To the rest of us."

"Quatre," Duo said again.

"I have a man up there," Wufei said. "Neutralizing anything that leads to Quatre Winner."

"Does he know?"

"That's classified."

"Does Trowa know?"

"That's classified."

"Damn it, Wufei." Duo let out an explosive sigh. "What do you want from me?"

"You know."

Duo glared at him, and then looked at Heero. The man stared back at him expressionlessly. The thing is, if the guy ever got close to identifying who piloted what, it would more than likely incriminate Heero more than Quatre, because Wing Zero was flown primarily by 01—even if it was 04 that fired on the colony inside Wing Zero.

"I'll take the fall," Duo said, looking at Wufei again. "If this guy wants to go to court."

"That's not what we're asking," Sally said, shaking her head.

"And Quatre would never stand for it," Heero murmured.

Duo continued to stare at Wufei, who stared back. "I wouldn't ask for his permission."

"You have no right to be anyone's martyr," Wufei said quietly, so quiet, it was almost a whisper.

"I won't be asking for your permission either, Wufei."

"There's another option," Wufei continued in that quiet tone. "We have a position for you. PFO."

The atmosphere thickened noticeably. "What the hell is that?"

"Prerequisite Fundamentals Officer," Sally said beside him, even though Duo kept his eyes trained on Wufei. "A position designed specifically for people like you, like us."

"That's nice."

A black thundercloud was gathering on Wufei's face. "I didn't give you this information so you could go vigilante on a grieving journalist, or martyr yourself because you've got nothing better to do with your time."

"Wufei," Sally warned, too late.

"Fuck you." Duo took a step into Wufei's space. "You've got nothing to do with how I spend my time."

Wufei didn't back down. If anything, he edged closer. "Incorrect, Maxwell. I have everything to do with how you spend your time. You can choose to be my case and force me to hassle you until the end of your miserable life, or you can choose to be a comrade; part of my team instead of a thorn in my fucking side."

Duo laughed in his face, low and dangerous; close enough to feel his breath bouncing back off of Wufei's features. "It just eats you alive, doesn't it, that I could give a shit about your little boy scout intelligence agency, and your little boy scout department, that I don't think its _salvation_ like you do. You're not as content as you pretend to be, with all your posturing and preaching. Are you? _You don't fool me_, Wufei."

Wufei smiled, cold and chilling. "Your problem," he said, tugging at the Preventers emblem stitched onto the breast of his jacket. "Is that you _want_ this. Pride will be the end of you."

"You're fucking one to talk," Duo snarled, his blackened nerves bursting in a single rush. He was suddenly jerked sideways, Heero's grip on his arm preventing his fist to fly like his brain was telling it to. It took some juggling to keep his prized kimchi and rice bowl from toppling out of his other hand. "Goddamn it, Heero. Let me go."

"Alright, boys," Sally chimed in, casually sitting on the bed between Wufei and Duo. "Let's play nice. Duo, why don't you take a walk?"

Wufei sent a mild look in Duo's direction. "We have some things to discuss with Heero."

"Anything that needs to be said to me," Heero said, releasing Duo's arm. "Can be said in front of him."

Before Duo could send Heero the appreciative grin that that warranted, Wufei added: "About Relena."

If Wufei didn't deserve to be punched in the face before, he certainly earned it now. Heero went still and stared at Duo, his mouth parted like he wanted to recant. Duo thought maybe a walk was a good idea.

"Fine; it's cool," Duo said before Heero could speak. He grabbed his cap and headed for the door.

"PFO," Wufei called out after him. "Last time you're getting the offer. Take that under advisement."

"Take this under advisement," Duo retorted, flipping him the finger. "Bitch."

~*~

Duo took the metro until it went to the edge of downtown, dropping him somewhere amidst the business district. He was down the block before he realized he was headed for the Preventers building. He did a one-eighty and headed the opposite direction, went to the park at the end of the street. Didn't know if they called him, warned him he was aimless and pissed and rampaging across the city. Didn't know if it was just coincidence—but Duo didn't much believe in coincidence, anyway. Kim stood by the fountain in the middle of the square in plain view, scuffing the point of his shoe in a crack in the pavement. Duo walked right up to him, and the smile Kim gave him when he looked up was enough to make Duo wish he'd grabbed his sunglasses on the way out.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, fancy that." Kim eyed Duo's rice bowl. "You like it?"

Duo shoveled some in his mouth and gave him a seafood grin.

"Aw, come on." Kim made a face. "Gross."

"Ha ha, hey, where's tall, dark and glaring?" Duo asked after he swallowed.

"Who, Manuel?"

"That your partner's name?"

"Yes." Kim put his hands in his pockets. He wasn't wearing anything that made him look like a Preventer, just slacks and a white undershirt. Probably so Duo could see he wasn't wearing a wire. "I left him at Headquarters." Kim sent him a sly look. "He didn't like you much."

"I'm crap at first impressions."

Kim grinned. "Hard to believe, since you're so charming."

Duo picked through his rice bowl, cornering a diced cucumber and plucking it up. He ate to hide his smile, more than a little pleased with Kim's casual flirting. "I know, right? I just don't understand it."

"So, where's your, ah, friend?" He looked cute, looking up at him through his lashes like that. Not nearly cute enough, though.

Duo looked at him, chewing slowly.

Kim licked his lips, looked away, and then back again. "Is he who the Deputy Director wanted to see?"

Duo looked at him, swallowing his mouthful.

Kim frowned. "Po said you'd be in a mood."

And Duo looked at him, lifting a chunk of cabbage from his bowl and letting it hover in the air until Kim relented and took a bite.

Kim surprised him by laughing and turning away. He walked over to the fountain and sat on the edge. "Fine," Kim said as Duo followed. "No more questions."

"Oh, you can ask questions." Duo sat beside him, resting his elbows on his knees, effectively bent over his kimchi and rice as he continued to eat. "You just have to ask the ones I'm willing to answer."

"Why?"

"Um." Duo glanced askance at him through his hair. "Because I make a point of being honest, and sometimes that can bite me in the ass."

"Oh." Duo could feel Kim's eyes on him. Didn't mind as much as before. The guy had a certain generosity to him, a yielding, pleasant personality that welcomed easy conversation. Medicinal, for Duo's nasty mood a la Chang Wufei. "Is that like a moral code or something?"

Duo tongued a spice caught between his teeth. "Hm, no. Doesn't really have anything to do with morality. Just...habit. M.O., maybe. Part of what makes me...me."

"Okay."

"Sally sent you to babysit me?" Duo glanced at him, daring him to lie.

"Sort of." Kim was smiling at him again. "Thought you could use some company that didn't have an agenda."

"You did, or Sally?"

Kim grunted, but didn't answer, the weight of his gaze leaving him for a moment. Duo liked him better for that.

"You know anything about PFO?"

"They want you to be a Floater?" Kim asked him in an awed, hitched sort of way.

Duo glared at him, albeit ineffectively. "A fucking what?"

"Floater," Kim repeated, his dark eyes skipping over Duo's face. "That's...It would be great for you."

"Why," Duo asked apprehensively.

"A PFO is a cut outside the rest, answerable only to the Directorate herself," Kim said, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear over the rush of the fountain water. "They move within departments as consultants, wherever they're needed, wherever the hell they want, really. They're like the glue that holds Preventers together; especially in the beginning, when we were really underfunded."

"Consultants?"

"Specialists," Kim nodded. "Overqualified specialists for any one department. Directorate figured out a way to outsource, but keep it within Preventers. A way to facilitate soldiers and pilots and technicians from the war that were too, um, prodigious to fit into regular society. She was really big on utilizing resources from the war when we first formed, gave a lot of us somewhere to go. Like Deputy Director Chang and Po. They started out as PFO's."

"Like recycling," Duo said sourly. "Wufei and Sal were able to choose a department?"

Kim nodded. "Chang couldn't until he turned eighteen, so Po waited too. They've been partners since the beginning. Now they work in SPG." Kim paused, scratched at the inside of his wrist. "Some of them have codenames, their identities too sensitive even for a regular Preventer to know. They probably won't bother with you—but the first PFO was someone named Wind. Gave Mariemaia and company a really bad day with the Tallgease during the last revolt."

Duo was quiet for a moment. Zechs Merquise. Duo knew that. Duo also knew that the guy was on Mars with Noin, which made Duo wonder at how far Une was sinking her Preventer claws in the universe. "You're gonna have to help me out with the acronyms here, buddy."

"Special Preventions Group, under Covert Special Activities Division." Kim glanced sideways at him. "CSAD."

Duo frowned at him. "Yes, thank you. And what do they do?"

Kim looked at him for a long time. Long enough that Duo almost thought he wouldn't answer. "Covert political influence and paramilitary operations. Among other things." Kim licked his lips, rubbed his hands on his slacks. "SPG specializes in operations. They...don't exist."

Kim held his gaze for a long moment before breaking away, allowing the information to resonate. Basically, Kim just revealed that Wufei and Sally were second in command to an entire paramilitary division supported by the Earth Sphere Unified Nation. And they were in Madrid playing recruiter with him? That tumbled in Duo's brain like a bundle of bricks.

"So," Duo said, recovering a little. "So, this PFO thing—it's a sweet deal?"

"Absolutely," Kim said firmly. "Short cut through all the bullshit, straight to whatever career you want." Kim looked at him again, the serious expression almost endearing on his youthful face. "You want to be a mechanic forever," he said softly, "you can be one in Preventers and no one'll ever give you shit for it. Or you could blow shit up for the rest of your life, develop weapons, security for politicians, decipher code—whatever. All of it, none of it. You're as qualified as it gets...and they want you because you're causing them PR problems, so they sent their finest, someone you knew from the war, to collect you. Everybody wins."

"But I want to go to the beach."

Kim blinked at him several times. "I'm not here to tell you what to do."

"I know." Duo ran a hand through his hair, tugged painfully at the thick of the braid at his neck. "Damn it."

Kim's cell phone chirped and he answered it, turning away slightly—and then sitting ramrod straight as if Wufei were standing right in front of him. God, that made Duo ill. "Yes. Yes, I have him. Yes, sir!" He closed the cell and gave Duo a pained smile. "They're ready for you now."

"Do you have to be so fucking earnest?" Duo closed his eyes. That's nice. He considered making them wait another four hours, but that would probably only piss off Heero—which sounded fun, but not today. "Alright, let's go."

The drive took about twenty minutes, which was mostly silent with Duo glaring out the window and chomping on the rest of his kimchi like an insolent child. They were pulling onto his street when Kim finally braved The Question.

"You okay, Duo?"

Duo was ready for it. "You drive like old people fuck," he muttered. "Slow and sloppy."

Kim sent him a dirty look. "You don't have to go back."

Duo snorted.

Kim shook his head and sighed. "That guy must have one helluva mouth."

Duo shot him a startled look.

Kim returned it levelly, after parking and turning off the ignition. "To make you so willing to walk back into the lion's den."

Duo erupted into laughter, his black mood cracking finally. "You're alright, Kim. You're alright. Hey." He handed Kim the now-empty rice bowl. "Tell your mother '_kam sa ham ni da_' for me. You know, for the kimchi." Duo grinned at him. "I like a little more heat on my cucumber, but at least she did alright by you."

Kim went a little pink in the cheeks, but he looked away as he laughed a breathy laugh. "My mother's dead, Duo."

Oh. Shit. Well.

"Dead by broken heart," Kim murmured, gazing out the windshield. "Like half the women widowed by a stupid war nobody remembers anymore."

"I feel like I just ran over your dog," Duo said after a moment. "I'm sorry, Kim."

Kim shrugged and smiled a little at him. "I know there's a nice guy in you somewhere, Duo. Forgiven."

"I used to be," Duo admitted. "A little bit. Forgotten how."

Kim's eyes on him were making him uncomfortable; they were staring _into_ him, not _at_ him. "Forgot how to be nice? That sounds an awful lot like bullshit to me. Remember."

Melting clocks. In the age of fallout, memory will persist—even if nothing else does.

Sally appeared on the sidewalk, knocking on the window to get their attention. Duo broke their stare to look at her, and then opened his door. He bent low to look at Kim one last time, but didn't know what to say, so he just tapped the hood of Kim's car and straightened. Sally was murmuring something to him on the other side and Duo caught Kim's discreet wave through the windshield as he came up to the sidewalk and headed in. Duo waved back and went inside. Heero was standing by the terrace, and turned when Duo came in. Wufei stood on the other side of the room, briefcase in hand as he leant against the wall by the door.

Heero caught Duo's gaze and held it. Three, two, launch: "I'm enlisting, Duo. They have an opening for me, for us, in D.C."

Duo gaped at him, struck speechless for the second time in all of five minutes. He flinched when Wufei placed a hand on his shoulder. Duo's mind was too numb to remember to glare at him.

Wufei bore down on him with dark eyes, serious as a seizure and oddly soft. "I know you're irate with me, Duo. And I'm sorry for that. Just know that I'm here only because I'd rather we be on the same side. I really care for what happens to you. Both of you."

The fucked thing was: Duo believed him. Wufei left, leaving the two of them alone.

Heero Yuy was quite a few things, but a coward was definitely not one of them. He stood there and waited, waited for Duo's fury to catch up with him.

"What did they do, dangle Relena in front of you like bait?" Duo spat.

Heero looked at him blankly.

Duo was working himself up now; he could feel the tremble in his gut. "Did they torment you with the thousand and fifteen ways she could be taken hostage, defiled and murdered?"

"You don't have any reason to be jealous of Relena," Heero said flatly.

Duo reared his head back for that, straightened, an odd instinct to try and make himself seem taller. "I have never in my life been jealous of Relena fucking Peacecraft. You know, it'd be perfect if she was actually going to Kenya, because then I could actually see—Oh, Jesus ever-loving Christ! She is? What the hell, Heero? Is this gonna be a regular thing with us? Meet up, screw, save the princess, blow some shit up, and then go our separate ways? Because it's fucking twisted—"

"What the hell made you so goddamned bitter, Duo?" Heero suddenly shouted. "You can't keep going around screaming 'Fuck the world!' just because Hilde decided to go marry some straight guy and leave you by yourself. I know what your problem is."

"What's my problem, Heero," Duo asked darkly, hands curling into fists. "And make it quick, because I didn't confide in you so you could throw it back in my face later."

"Your problem," Heero grated, his voice a deep rumble between them. "Is that before on L2, whenever you lost somebody, you could blame it on Alliance, on Specials, on Oz—and later, you could blame it on a violent war and shrug it off because everything was fucked anyway. Now, the only person you can blame when people leave you is yourself, because you're the common denominator, and that just kills you, doesn't it? That's why you only give me scraps, isn't it? You think that if I get too close, I'll see how ugly you are and leave. You need to fucking _knock it off_."

"Fuck you."

"Right," Heero scoffed, throwing up his hands and turning to step out on the balcony. "Fuck me."

Duo stormed over to the bed, grabbed the postcard of Formentera from under his pillow, and stalked out to the balcony. He shoved the thing into Heero's chest. "What about this, huh? Was all that lip-service, just jargon to keep me still until Wufei got here?"

Heero's fist closed over the postcard, met Duo's eyes quietly. "This has absolutely nothing to do with Wufei."

The tremble in his gut was dying out to a quiver, and that never bode well. "You said it would be good for me. You said I could go with you." Duo knew he sounded pathetic, but he felt like he was being forced, and he never liked feeling forced. His whole body resisted the notion, trembling with the quiver in his gut, the burn in his throat.

"It would—I still want..." Heero's eyes were searching his, his glare melting into something softer. He reached out to touch Duo's face, but Duo flinched away. "Duo."

"Don't 'Duo' me," Duo muttered, stepping back into their room. A hand on his arm suddenly, turning him around. Heero's other arm snaked around his waist, holding him there.

"There's no growth without discontent," Heero murmured. "And you've got it bad. You said you trusted me."

Sad, because it was true. Nothing changed unless people are unhappy about the way things were. Nobody rebelled when everything was perfect. Duo felt miserable. "Please don't tell me you enlisted because of me."

Heero's hand moved from his arm to the side of his face. Heero kissed him very softly on the mouth. "Okay. I won't tell you that."

Duo turned his face to avoid the second kiss. Heero moved his face back for the third. "Don't fuck with me, Heero."

"I'm not fucking with you."

Duo fisted his hands into Heero's shirt and kissed him violently. He saw stars when Heero lifted him and pressed him against the wall, his head smacking smartly against the hard surface. Wufei wasn't lying when he said he knew Duo, knew both of them. Clever bastard. Used Duo to find Heero, used Relena to snag Heero, used that to snag Duo. And they both knew it. They both knew it. Made the sex angry, because it was frustrating. Frustrating that they were predictable, easy to maneuver them if you knew them well enough. And Wufei knew them well enough. Used his good cop/bad cop routine with Sally to get Duo fired up, to get Heero alone. Duo never should have left Heero alone with them.

They screwed on the floor, among the pile of their discarded clothing. Duo rode him until he couldn't lift himself anymore, spent and boneless, draped limply across Heero's shoulders. Then Heero grasped Duo about the waist and held him there until he came, jerking Duo's body down as he thrust up, making Duo whimper helplessly until he was finished. It was good. It was really good. Duo might never get a line on whether Heero was gay, or just gay for him. Whichever, Heero was a damn fine lay.

"Alright!" Duo exclaimed much later, as he panted on his back, Heero fixed between his legs, Duo's knees draped over Heero's shoulders as he went down on him, working him balls to slit for Round Two. Duo thumped a fist onto the floor, causing Heero to look up at him. Duo wagged a finger in his face, breathless because just the idea of Heero's mouth on his cock was enough to make him plenty hard.

"Fine," Duo gasped. "But I want a dog."

**To be continued...**

**Dyna: **Thanks for taking the time to comment! I'm typing as fast as I can, lol! I hope you enjoyed the update!


	7. Nesting

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: "Nice neighborhood, though. We're like the scab on the street. Oh, look. Kids on bikes."

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered quotes of Duo-isms from episodes 6 & 7.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: I could bore you with why it's taken so long to get this post out, but hell, I won't. I figure all you really want to do is skip down to what I made you wait for. But I will say, if you're even still reading this, that though it feels like a filler, it isn't. Nesting begins the 'Swearing In' arch of Prerequisite. Thank you for reading, and for your patience. Enjoy.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Six

**Nesting**

AC 203

You load yours on too. I'll take over the cockpit.

Before, it felt like seeping, like being sunk into, saturated by, a glass of white milk inside a cavern of black marble. A creeping along his skin that went bone deep. A resigned afterthought, too, that his job might never be really over. That as long as he existed, as long as there were those who knew what he was, what he could do, he would be obligated. Obligated. Obligated to harness in, take the grip, push the button. Kill her and her dog.

The reason, the motivation had already become weak, watered down, drowned in its own smothering ideal. Futile, because maybe, in his own small way, Trieze had been right. Maybe a little bit. One human, or five, or a hundred thousand could never be any match for human nature, and human nature's own worst instincts.

Heero could admit that at first, and for many years, it felt like a looking glass to him too. First in Brazil, and then Panama, and then Burma. Definitely Burma. Africa had been what jarred him, even if Burma had been especially cruel to the human-esque creatures that lived and died there. Africa, because he'd fought there before. They'd all, at some point, brought their Gundams and fought giant machines and power-hungry generals tripping off the coke they patrolled in and out, in and out. And yet, there were still tribes, villages, small cities even who had never seen a mecca, let alone a Gundam, knew only the small wars they fought amongst each other.

A great deal of people on Earth had learned from Trieze what he had set out to teach them, that machines should not fight our wars for us because then we do not fully comprehend the cost of what we do. These people--these people lived on such a simpler frequency. Watching a body explode by the torque-force of a bullet the size of a man's fist wasn't...new to them. It was awful, and in some distant part of them Heero thought they knew that, registered that, but generations of this sort of war made them apathetic; almost.

That's when he'd decided on taking up the camera. Heero never had any intention of exploiting anyone's pain, or ever really showing anyone at all, but just the action of clamping the lever, twisting, snapping the shutter—it immortalized them, reminded him, froze this moment that might have a million more in the years to come but Heero hoped to God he wasn't there to see.

Somewhere along the way, he'd stepped up to something. Caring, maybe—but that took a whole lot more work than not caring did. A little something more, though, but just under the arrogant, self-possessed notion of duty, of thinking that it was his responsibility to continue it—because he'd finally realized how small he really was, compared...Compared to it all. To everything.

And what had really surprised him was that he didn't feel guilty about that. He thought he might, because it was this weird vertigo between giving a shit and knowing when your rock was just really a pebble and maybe there's something better on the other side of that hill over there. That maybe there was no shame in that. He felt lighter for it.

Saying yes to Preventers, saying yes to Wufei—Heero thought that perhaps a tiny part of him felt compelled. Certainly not, however, obligated. He would do it because he could. And to function, to live, he would need a skill. Heero did not think he would have the patience, or at least the determination, to learn any new ones if he could help it. And Duo needed permanence. Heero knew Duo would hate him for it for a little while, but Heero was okay with that. Heero had weathered that before.

Heero thought it would feel like seeping again. He expected the sounds to become sharper, the senses heightened. He'd wondered if he would remember to tell Duo to take off the bandages from his fingers, that he didn't need them anymore. He didn't; he forgot. His instincts were still sharp. He remembered to burn everything, to wipe down the room. It was clean by the time Duo stirred, lifting his head to roll groggy eyes at him.

Duo patted the sheet. Heero sat next to him only long enough to tug his braid and order him into the shower. The sun began to rise as Duo reemerged, dripping wet because Heero had burned the towels too, forcing him to air dry. Heero smiled a little at Duo's surly expression, and kissed his frown until it smoothed away. Then he handed him new clothes and a cup of coffee.

"Preventers are waiting for us downstairs."

Not the Asian one Duo favored, but his Spanish partner was there. Duo looked at him longer than appropriate, but slid his gaze away the moment before the man could be justified in taking offense. Duo was still next to Heero the car ride to the strip, the sound of his breathing more imagined then actually audible. He smelled like he washed his entire body in aftershave. The image in his head was fleeting, but not quick enough to stop the half-smile that crept onto Heero's face. Duo noticed it with a flicker of his eyes and a lowering of his shoulders.

You load yours on too...

The sun was bright in the early dawn, piercing, causing shadows on Duo's face. Heero squinted against the brightness as they crossed the breadth of the hangar on foot, the Spanish Preventers trailing behind them. The pilot stood by the short staircase, a pleasant look on his face that stayed safely under campy. Heero shook his hand firmly and trotted up the metal steps. Duo pulled him in a little and whispered something in the pilot's ear that made the man bark out a hearty laugh. Grinning, Duo followed Heero into the jet.

I'll take over...

The Atlantic sparkled, but that got old. Duo was already dozing, but watching him sleep was only fascinating for maybe half an hour—forty-five minutes if he was dreaming. Heero was bored, and thought about how it didn't feel like seeping, like duty, like a wash of milk inside black marble. He imagined the hum of Wing shivering into him, whispering around him, bright yellow against his iris, static white and blue along the bare skin of his arms and legs. He fell asleep thinking of battle, and being swept up in it. And how this felt very different.

~*~

He should spend his time enjoying life instead of trying to outsmart me. While he's alive, that is.

Heero woke with a start and Duo's breath on his face. His expression looked a little grey and Heero shrank back in his seat, convinced he was going to vomit. "Since when did you get air-sick," Heero demanded when Duo shot him a bewildered look.

"Ha ha," Duo muttered, eyes flickering back to the window for an instant before relaxing back into his seat. "You wish. I could eat a sandwich upside down at three hundred knots, asshole. What are you, new?"

Heero glanced out the window, noticing the air pressure was changing. They were circling some kind of massive bay, forests of broccoli shaped trees stretching on for miles and miles beneath them. Ah, right. Trees. Heero felt another grin creep along his face. Duo noticed and colored.

"Oh, shut the hell up."

As the jet continued it's decent, Duo would shift, then lean over Heero periodically to peer out of the window, before catching Heero's eye and settling back again with a grumble. Heero actually enjoyed Duo's discomfort. In a very small way, it felt like justice.

"You know," Heero remarked monotone. "We'll probably have a backyard with trees."

"Heero," Duo warned. "I will punch you in the face--"

"You'll have to face them when you walk that dog you want so badly."

"—and then I will kick you in the nuts," he continued. "If you don't shut the hell up."

"It might be fun to see you try."

Duo looked at him then, his expression odd but not hostile. "I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humor." And then his eyes slid sideways and Heero could see that Duo knew what he was going to say before he said it, that resigned was his expression.

"Liar."

They landed at Baltimore Washington International Airport and walked to a separate hangar where a chopper was waiting. No one there to greet them this time, only a pair of military pilots waiting silently behind the stick for them to climb in, the bird lifting off the moment they'd set their duffels down. The flight took only minutes, landing again on a small airstrip within the garrisoned Fort Meade, nestled on all sides by suburban neighborhoods.

A General Eckart stood just beyond the whipping air caused by the chopper, flanked by four Marines in full gear and two Preventers standing by a black Lincoln. Heero was the first to jump lightly from the gunner platform, followed by Duo, ducking until they'd moved beyond the whirr of the helicopter blades. One Preventer, sandy haired with small brown eyes, held up two photos, checking, apparently, that they were who they were sent for. He then pocketed the photos and offered his hand. Beside him, Duo was peering at the Marines, and most notably, their rifles hanging ready from their shoulders. Duo made them nervous and he knew it.

"I am Officer Kilman," the Preventer said, and behind Heero, Duo laughed. "This is Officer Tailer," Kilman continued, gesturing to his partner; a woman whose sharp features weren't unkind to her, with freckles that enhanced the bright hazel of her intelligent eyes, instead of detracting from it. Heero shook his hand, and then Tailer's.

Instinctually, maybe, Duo lifted his hand to greet them similarly without missing a beat, smiling politely before returning to stare rudely at their military entourage. Kilman cleared his throat and stepped forward. "And this is General Eckart," Kilman said, moving up beside Duo.

Duo's face morphed into a strange pleasantness as he regarded the general, shaking his hand as well. "Well, its good to know you didn't steal someone else's uniform," he said. Jesus, Duo.

But General Eckart grinned suddenly, tightening his grip on Duo's hand. "Welcome to Fort Mead. Your residence will be closest to our base, so we will be flying you to Preventer HQ."

Duo's brows lifted, ignoring the iron lock on his hand. "Daily?"

"Yes," Eckart answered. "I remember you."

Duo's smile was broad. "I don't remember you," he said pleasantly. "But I get it. You've probably been wearing that uniform longer'n I've been alive." He switched gears rapidly. Heero could feel the tension between Duo's shoulder blades. He glanced at the Marines, who had mastered the art of listening closely without appearing at all interested. They were tense too. "Do you know," Duo said, his knuckles white on Eckart's hand. "You probably do, but in the Middle Ages, knights used to raise their visors and expose their face to fellow knights. It was their way of recognizing friend from enemy. That's how we get our salute. That's what it means." He suddenly released Eckart's hand and stepped back. The general laughed.

"I like you," Eckart said, lifting his hand in a quick salute. Immediately, the Marines behind him did the same, waiting rigidly until both Duo _and_ Heero released them. That was the most surreal thing to happen to Heero since Duo walked back into his life. These men had no idea who he was. "Most likely, I won't see you two but periodically. However, if you need anything, you can contact my office and I'll see it done."

"Thanks, General." Duo's smile was genuine this time.

...instead of trying to outsmart me.

But Kilman's voice was tight as he said: "If you'll follow us to the car, we can be on our way."

Inside the Lincoln, it was bigger than it seemed and the two Preventers sat facing Heero and Duo in the back as two MP's drove it out of the base and out onto civilian roads.

"You must be Duo," Kilman said after a minute of heavy silence. "The Deputy Director warned me about you."

"Did he? That's cute. Listen," Duo sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why do we have to bother local military to commute to HQ?"

"It was a courtesy," Tailer said, her voice smooth and even, speaking for the first time. "Deputy Director Chang thought you might enjoy a sense of autonomy."

That quieted Duo, and Kilman turned to Heero. "I don't know your name, and we were told to instruct you not to say it inside any military vehicle or anywhere on base. You've not been given a code name yet, so you'll be getting new badges once you swear in." Kilman handed two plastic covered badges attached to a chord to hang around their necks. Both had bar codes and numbers and the Preventer insignia, one had a photo of Heero, and the other Duo. The Lincoln was already pulling into a neighborhood called The Provinces.

"When are we expected at HQ?" Heero asked in a flat voice.

"Not for another week," Tailer answered. "Gives you time to settle in. There will be some furniture in the house from the previous occupant, but not enough. We have money for you, for groceries, furnishings, clothes. Next Monday, your ride will arrive to pick you up at oh-eight hundred hours." Tailer handed Duo the credit card when he held up his hand. The Lincoln stopped in front of a house--a two-story house with peeling paint and a lawn with weedy, overgrown grass. "There's a pool in the back," Tailer added.

The Preventers murmured an informal farewell as Heero and Duo exited the car, retrieving their duffels from the trunk. The Lincoln drove away, leaving the two of them standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at their new...home.

"What the hell were you thinking, with the general?"

"If we're going to be seeing them daily, I don't want to be treated like some political schmuck hitching a ride." Duo dropped his duffle onto the concrete sidewalk, stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Besides, if they're saluting us, maybe they'll let us fly instead of ride every once in a while."

"They might have shot you."

"Sure. But they didn't." Duo coughed, winced a little as a wave of insect buzzing grew thunderous from a nearby patch of trees. "This place is a dump."

"Fixable."

"Nice neighborhood, though. We're like the scab on the street. Oh, look. Kids on bikes."

They observed them riding by, staring back at the teenagers who watched them with surprised expressions. An elderly lady passed as well, walking her tiny, fluffy white dog, across the street. She didn't look up.

"It's muggy here. Thought the northwest would be getting cold by now."

"Bay makes it humid. Swamps."

"Thank you, Wiki."

"The trees are changing. That one's turning yellow."

"Okay, I've had enough. Let's go inside."

The key turned without struggle and the door opened with a light squeak. They were greeted by two sets of stairs, one leading up, the other leading down. Duo began descending nearly immediately, and Heero trotted up to the second storey, setting down his duffle in what might become the living room—or the dining room, if Duo decided to get fancy on him. There was a bay window, facing the street and the room was lined on one side by wrought iron, preventing any tumbles down the staircase. To his right, a hallway and in front of him a kitchen. The kitchen was long enough for a breakfast table, and had cabinets along every wall. The wood was new, glossy still, but whoever had installed them, Heero noticed, was either an idiot or just didn't care. A few cabinet doors hung awkwardly from crappily mounted hinges. There was a sliding glass door, also, leading out to a deck. Heero glanced only once at it and decided to tear it down. It was red with huge swatches of green mold. The thing would go on its own any day now. Heero ventured down the hall, noting the single bathroom and the three small bedrooms at the far end. The bedroom facing the street seemed barely large enough for an office, but Heero thought he could manage something.

He should spend his time...

Heero heard Duo softly calling his name. He went downstairs, found him gazing out another set of glass doors directly under the deck. The room he stood in looked like some sort of den. And there was a second bathroom here too.

"Check it out," Duo said, jerking his chin forward.

Tailer had at least been right about the pool. It was probably the nicest part of the entire property. The tiles were clean, it was long enough to do laps but still had a grassy area surrounding it, and the water was clear and welcoming. Heero did not think, however, that the girl swimming in it came with the house.

Abruptly, a dog came running from around the unseen side of the backyard, loosing a loud, cracking howl. The girl dipped in the water and got her feet under her, spraying water as she surface, eyes searching for her animal. She found her dog, and followed the dog's line of sight to them. Her eyes went wide, she swallowed, and then she snapped her fingers. Her animal, a tawny pit bull mutt, turned on its heel and trotted back to her. The pit sat near her as she lifted herself up onto the deck and grabbed her towel, staring at them with more curiosity than enmity.

"Good dog," Duo murmured, and despite Heero's groan of protest, lifted the latch and swung the door open. The dog stood, alert. The girl paused, tucking the large towel diffidently around her body.

"I don't ever go into the house," the girl began. "I'm really sorry. I live next door—"

"We just moved here," Duo said, raising his hands palm-out. "It's nice to already know at least one person."

She bit her lip, glanced at her dog. And then frowned. She made a strange noise with her teeth and snapped her fingers again. Immediately, the dog sat but did not look at her. This seemed to anger her because her fingers shot out and jabbed the pit lightly in the neck. The dog sank down to its stomach, gazing now beseechingly at its owner. The girl smiled. "Good girl," she said softly. "This is Nefie. She's really the sweetest thing since pixie dust, even if she looks like she'll maw your face off."

"Are you a dog trainer?" Duo asked, glancing at Heero as he came out to stand beside him.

"Nah. I just remember what works." The girl glanced at Heero and then right back to Duo. "Why'd you move here? The deck's about to fall down."

"It was cheap. I'm Duo, this is Heero." When Heero shot a look at him, Duo added: "And if you could keep that between us, it'd be awesome."

The girl shrugged, unfazed. "Military, intelligence; whatever, I get it. I'm Chris."

"Nice to meet you. You've kept the pool clean?"

"Um, yeah. I could teach you if you want." Chris bent down to scratch Nefie's ears.

"That's okay," Duo said. "Keep it clean, you can swim here anytime."

Chris looked at Heero again, but didn't look away this time. "Is that okay with you too?"

That surprised him, but in a good way. He nodded.

"Sweet deal. You sound like a colonial," Chris said, her attention back on Duo.

Duo didn't affirm or deny that. "You get a lot of those around here?"

Chris shrugged again, her face as open and honest as it could possibly, painfully get. She started to say something, but then shook herself out of it. Then: "Listen, I should get going. But if you guys need help fixing the place up and I'm not working—well, anyway. It wouldn't be a big deal because I do that sort of thing for fun. You should really get rid of the deck though. And the under-board in the den should be replaced. And whoever put the cabinets up there should be shot in the face."

Heero laughed, because he couldn't help himself. So much for never going inside the house. It seemed to startle both of them, his sudden laughter. She was charming, this girl who wasn't much younger than them. And it all seemed very accidental, with a tom-boyishness probably spurned from necessity, the ability and willingness to fix something old and make it new, livable, forced on an Earther girl who fought no war, but knew men and women who did. She was pretty enough, with a comic-book hourglass shape, big, bright blue eyes and long dark hair. But she seemed more used to hiding it, and it most likely had nothing to do with modesty. She was looking at him expectantly.

Duo wasn't, already gathering the courage to crouch down and touch the dog, Nefie, who was happy enough to let him, tail wagging with such force that the pit's entire body swayed with it. Heero saw Duo glance up at him through his bangs, a very pleased, humored look on his face. Heero faced the girl again, his smile long gone, and searched for something to say.

He pointed at the deck. "Do you think it'll rip the side of house off?"

She had Relena's instincts in maneuvering through an awkward conversation, but maybe only a tenth of her skill. Chris pounced on that with an eagerness that made her seem even younger. Heero was having a tough time guessing her age. "Nah—Well, if you wait for it to just cave in it might. But the—it's just wood. If you're careful, you could tear it off with a hammer and a ladder without damaging the house." Chris took in a deep breath and seemed to hold it. Her eyes, bright against her dark hair and pale skin, darted to Duo, fully engaged by the dog now, and then back to him.

And then it struck him, hit Heero like a bucket of ice water. Chris reminded Heero of the fifteen year old Duo lost years ago. Smart, aware, but not ready to give up the sense of hearth and home everyone's told them they're not allowed to have. And against all odds, pushing against the apathy that could sneak up and devour a populace like a thief in the night, was more than willing to share.

"We have to buy furniture," Heero blurted suddenly. "And food. Where—"

"Swedish Walmart," Chris said immediately. "Ikea. If you can figure out how to put that stuff together, it's a goldmine. But you'll probably need..." She was gone, then, rushing out of the backyard through a side gate, leaving the dog with them. She returned just seconds after Nefie noticed she was gone, trotting along-side Chris' legs back into the yard. She was wearing jeans now, and holding two sleeping bags, several pillows, and a handful of magazine clippings with numbers and coupons for local pizza and Chinese food. Heero relieved her of the considerable load, set it down on the patio.

"Wow, thanks," Duo said, grabbing the pizza list, eyes skimming over the options.

Chris beamed at them. "Well I figure you won't want furniture until you've fixed the place up. My garage is always unlocked, and I'll scream your name in the streets if you tell anyone that, but we've got good paint, trays, rollers, spackle—pretty much everything you'll need to get started. Just ask Doug for what you need, and he'll find it for you. He likes to 'organize' things." Her smile turned fond. "And the girls will help if he's not home."

"That your boyfriend?" Duo asked, because Heero would never.

Chris laughed in his face. "My brother, actually. And he's...well, he's a little slow so be patient with him."

"Sure," Duo said. "And really, thank you. That's going to help a lot. We've got...uh, six days."

"Six. Days." Chris looked severe for a moment, a frown gathering between her pretty eyes. "Um. Well, I'd say 'good luck with that' but that might be rude. You can use Dad's truck. Tires are crap, but it works if you can avoid a blowout—"

"You really don't have to—"

Chris fixed Duo with a sharp stare, and this time it _did_ verge on hostile. "We do that around here. Help each other. I can't imagine the colonies surviving up there if they didn't do that too. Just say thank you."

"Thank you," Duo said. And the way he said it surprised Heero, earned a look, because it sounded uncharacteristically stiff.

Chris looked at Heero, and he could swear her expression smoothed back, back to curious and not a little bewildered. She wasn't afraid of him, but her instincts were telling her to be.

"Thank you," he said slowly.

Chris seemed delighted with that, smiling a little and turning away. "I'll leave the keys in the truck. It's the only purple rig in the entire neighborhood. Can't miss it."

Much later, over stir-fry and wontons, the kitchen floor illuminated by a single, large candle they found in Chris's garage, they began planning. The candle's red wax, scented like some over-sweet flower, dripped into a pan found in one of the many broken cabinets.

"The den, first," Duo said, around a mouthful of rice and vegetable. "And then that room downstairs connected to the garage. The carpet needs to be ripped up, smells awful."

Heero nodded, fingering a wonton distractedly. "Previous owners had cats."

Duo made a face, swallowed his food. "Yeah. What do you think about making it a mini-gym or something?"

Heero shrugged. "It's large enough. Or we can tear down the wall, make the garage bigger."

"Bedrooms upstairs, maybe?"

Heero looked up for that, but only shrugged in answer. He wasn't ready to expect they'd be sharing a room. But that might have been...

"Don't know what to do with the room with the bay window, if we're going to have a couch in the den." Duo stole the wonton Heero had been playing with and ate it.

Heero felt the quiet creep up on him, and suddenly realized Duo was regarding him. "How long are we going to stay here?" Heero asked quietly.

Heero could _feel_ Duo's frown. "This was your idea, Heero," he said, tossing down his chopsticks. They clattered on the tile and Duo winced, as if he hadn't meant to make such a scene. "I'm playing along," Duo said more gently. "I'm playing nice."

"But for how long." Heero looked at him then; looked at his long face, his sharp jaw that could use a shave, to his eyes shining black in the flickering light. "House doesn't seem huge now. But—"

"You're already banking on me leaving you," Duo said plainly, his tone blanketed.

Heero just looked at him.

Finally, Duo sighed. "I'm not gonna rip up floor board and heave furniture up stairs and screw around with Swedish installments just to take off in two months. Jesus, Heero."

"I don't know you." Heero stopped himself, dipped his finger in wet wax. It burned, but as the wax cooled, it almost felt nice. "Like I thought I did," he finished after a pause. "I don't--_know_--what you'll do."

"What's there to know," Duo said. "I'm here now. Get me a dog like Nefie, and I'll sure as hell be invested."

Heero smiled a little, for that.

"You like her," Duo said, and he didn't mean the dog.

"She's—kind," Heero said haltingly. "She reminds me of—someone. A girl from the war."

Duo understood that, then. He knew the story, like Wufei knew the story. It might have been more of Wufei's manipulation, but it didn't feel as heavy-handed as it had in Spain. Subtle, if it was really premeditated at all.

"Of you, too."

Duo's smile turned into a grin. "I could see that, I guess. I don't think I ever talked that fast, though."

Heero laughed, because that was true and not true, and dipped his finger back into the wax.

I wonder if that guy even looks at the moon.

~*~

This is finally our chance to take down the OZ organization.

They didn't see Chris again the next day, or the day after, but she was true to her word and left the keys for the purple pick-up inside the glove box. They met the brother the first afternoon, a large, broad-shouldered man that looked thirty but had a mind younger than an average twelve year old. And despite his soft-spoken, short sentences, his eyes were bright and set Heero on edge. Duo seemed to know how to talk to him though and Doug was helpful enough in finding the hardware, tools and paint supplies they needed. He also offered to mow their lawn while they were away at the depot.

By Wednesday, only the salvageable carpet remained tacked to the floor, the walls were spackled and sanded, the plumbing tuned, and Duo was hard at work smoothing wet primer to the upstairs walls while Heero finished flooring the downstairs. They'd decided on hardwood, because it would be easier to clean and rugs would do just fine to take the chill away in winter.

It was colder at night, more normal for this area in October, and they shared the sleeping bags for necessity instead of desire. They were pleasant enough with one another, using their large tasks and limited amount of time to keep their focus away from each other. After a quick lunch of cold pizza and iced tea supplied by a quiet Doug, Duo announced he was ready to go to the pound.

...it'll be quite the battle. Yeah, and then I get to go back to space.

Heero felt irritable. He was tired and sweaty and the iced tea was too sweet. It did nothing to take his thirst away. "Paint fumes."

"Yeah, what about them."

"Might not be good for the dog."

Duo made a face at him. "Please. Come on, let's go."

The pound was a depressing affair with a dirt lot and chained link fences on the inside. The two women behind the plexi-glass seemed surprised they were there to adopt. Heero and Duo were led into the kennel, and the assistant pointed out the section of cages that held dogs eligible for adoption. Duo rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet—and it seemed worth it, suddenly, because Heero hadn't seen him that excited about anything in a long time.

There was a German Sheppard with a limp, two ankle-biters with sharp eyes and an even sharper bark, a terrier mutt, and one dog both Heero and Duo were drawn to right away. A Pit Bull that struck a striking resemblance to Nefie except that he was grey and speckled, and much larger.

"He was saved from a man who used him to fight," the girl explained. "He's been here a while because most people don't want aggressive dogs."

"Is he," Heero said. "Aggressive."

"Not that I've ever seen," the girl answered. "I'm sure he's got it in him somewhere, but all dogs do. He just needs some love, and he could be a lapdog."

The dog lay on its stomach in the far corner, only a little interested. His head was cocked to the side, his ears up and attentive, eyes watching—but this dog had seen humans come and go before. Probably, they all thought he was too dangerous. Probably, they wouldn't even come near him.

Heero exchanged a single glance with Duo and then approached him. Carefully, hand out. The dog lifted his head, waited for him. Heero watched the dog sniff him warily, his black snout barely twitching. Then the tail moved, and moved again.

"He likes you," the girl said.

Duo, oddly fearless, reached out and scratched the pit behind the ears. "We'll take him. Where do I sign my life away?"

Yeah, and then I get to go...

The drive back was considerably lighter than the drive there. Duo, laughing, had managed to maneuver the large dog onto his lap for the ride home, against the even larger protests of the girl. She tried to explain that the dog should be transferred in a kennel, but Duo shortly told her that no member of his family would be carried around in a cage. The animal seemed to enjoy that very much, because he became very active, sniffing everything, thwacking its long tail against the dashboard and licking at Duo's face every chance he got.

Nefie was in the yard when they pulled up and their pit was shaking with excitement, barely restraining himself from jumping out of the truck's window. Once Duo let him out they watched bemusedly as the dogs collided into each other, sniffed and then pounced again. Chris came out of the house smiling broadly.

"Hey," she exclaimed, hopping down her steps to join them on the sidewalk. "Look at who's planning on staying a while. He's pretty. How much was he?"

"Other than licensing, nothing," Duo said, his face all toothy grin and happy eyes. "We got him at the pound. Nefie seems to like him."

"Nefie likes everyone," Chris shrugged. "But it'll be good for her to have a walking buddy. And I don't believe for one minute you got a blue pit at the pound."

"He was a fighting dog," Heero said quietly.

Chris fixed her eyes on him, and Heero had to find a certain amount of strength to look back at her. She didn't seem to be looking at him, but rather _into_ him. "Good for you. Good for both of you." She clucked her teeth for a moment. "Ever owned a dog before?"

"No," they answered simultaneously.

"Oh, that's good," she said breezily, and Heero couldn't decide if she was joking or not. "Virgins are always better to train. No bad habits. Named him yet?"

Heero shook his head, looked at Duo—but he had eyes only for the two dogs on the lawn.

Chris switched gears, gesturing to their house. "The yellow and black is crap. You should think about re-painting that too."

Duo laughed. Maybe he was paying attention after all. "Any ideas, Chris?"

"Gray base with brick-red trim," she answered readily, and then gave them another wide grin. "It's masculine and sharp and—"

Duo was laughing again. "We'll do it. And in five years, when we're ready to upgrade, we'll sell you the house."

"Sweet," she said, unabashed, giving them a sly wink. "Must dash. Have to help the girls with homework."

And like clockwork, a yellow school bus pulled up to the corner. They watched a ten year-old jump out and Chris walk up to greet her, Nefie beating her to the punch at an excited gallop.

Aw, man. It'll be quite the battle.

"Sweet mother of God," Duo breathed, somewhere close to Heero's elbow. "We're nesting."

I don't think you get it.

And then, as some _thing_ seized in his chest, an ominous foreboding, Heero decided it wasn't just a mark on the calendar anymore. He _needed_ to go to work on Monday.

Yeah, then I get to go back...

**To be continued...**


	8. For Thirty Pieces of Silver

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: It helped to think Heero was on his side on at least this, that they needed to be a team to survive this crap without being manipulated into anything else they did not want to do. It just helped to think that Heero was on his side.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered quotes of Duo-isms from the series.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Fun that I was able to whip this up so quickly. Pre-planned much of the technical stuff, so that helped it along. Thanks everyone who's still reading, and enjoying!, this fic. Means a lot, especially after the long wait for last chapter. Another roller-coaster chapter, but I'm very pleased with it. I think, officially, Black and Gold by Sam Sparro is Prerequisite's theme song, or at least this chapter's, for without which, I never would have been able to type this up as quickly as I did. Please enjoy.

Yours,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Seven

**For Thirty Pieces of Silver**

AC 203

Duo had always known Heero was more than a generic black and white carbon print. In fact, probably, everyone who'd ever met Heero figured that out, if you could get him to talk. Relena had been quick to guess that, even when Heero's version of flirting was an adrenaline scabbed threat of bodily harm. Trowa knew, because they seemed to be cut from the same mold, even if their backgrounds were dissimilar. Quatre knew it instinctually, because Quatre knew most things instinctually. Duo knew, but only because he refused to believe otherwise.

That didn't mean it wouldn't come as a surprise that Heero flippin' Yuy would take to this sort of life like fish to water. With Hilde, it was effortless, like so many things with her were effortless. By rights, Duo shouldn't have a problem adjusting. By rights, it should be him coaxing Heero and not the other way around. Maybe he was defective, maybe something about recent events broke him permanently, or even just periodically, but even just that made Duo terrified he was going to screw this up and Heero would just—just be gone one day. And Duo knew if that happened, he would never find him again. Heero was as good as dead if he didn't want to be found. Funny though, in an awful way, that Heero moped around with the same fear. Vicious too, because Duo wasn't concerned with trying too hard to make him feel better. Because the crux was that Duo was pissed. He was pissed and a good deal of it was he was pissed at Heero. Not as much as before, not nearly as much as Monday, when they finally arrived and saw the house for the first time that was as sick a metaphor for their fucked up life as anything Duo had ever seen. And probably somewhere in Virginia, Wufei was meditating and trying not to smile. Probably, when Duo saw him again he wouldn't hold back. Probably, Duo would punch him in the mouth. Probably. And not ironic that they would have to literally fix the house they were dumped in, like they would have to fix everything else to make it livable. Shouldn't have to fix everything. Shouldn't have to fix attitudes and fix relationships and fix standards. Some things ought to come already fixed. Some things ought to be natural.

Because--Duo had meant roommates when he propositioned Heero in Brussels, not...not lovers. And that might have been naïve. Really naïve, because there was at least one thing between them that was effortless, natural, and it was the one thing that was never effortless with Hilde. Sex. And why did Duo feel like he had to fix the one natural fucking thing that happened between them? It felt like pushing too hard against the grain. Well.

They had to close the still-unnamed-dog out of a bedroom to fuck the night they brought him home. It had been surprisingly tender, and that had hurt. Hurt in ways Duo couldn't put words to. Because there wasn't much of a reserve for tenderness in Duo, and he thought they might be hoping for too much too soon. Sweet, in a way that made Duo think of the startled look in Heero's eyes that first time, that hour before the last significant space battle of the war, that stolen moment on Peacemillion. Heero touched him like he had then, like he wouldn't ever get a chance to again. Fingers curved around muscle spastically, roaming, quick and fleeting. Rush of skin on skin, crushing embraces, hot mouth everywhere, head buried in his shoulder when Heero came like he was trying to sink into him. But one plus one doesn't equal one. One plus one equals two.

The next day was better. More quiet smiles from Heero as they ordered furniture, as they painted the inside of the house, as they let Chris help them pick out paint for the outer paneling. Duo saw that Heero secretly enjoyed Chris, and what she meant to their newly-born, weird sort of family. She taught them how to deal with the dog, who received so much instantaneous affection from Duo, he had to wonder where it came from. He had never loved anything for absolutely no reason, and absolutely never on this scale.

Chris. Chris was something of a mystery. She often referred to her parents, but Duo never saw them. The brother was close-mouthed about the allusive parental figures, and although her younger sisters, 'the girls', were exceptionally friendly, neither himself nor Heero ever had much of a conversation with them. She was bright, that much he was certain, and craftily helpful which caused him to respect her. It was the same sort of self-serving 'compassion' the better sides of L2 operated on. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that hard evidence suggested she had never set foot off-planet, Duo would've pegged her for a colonial.

The dog—Ha, well, the dog became their obvious glue. They didn't have to talk about 'them' when they had such an obvious thing to adore. He followed them around happily, contentedly, oddly at most ease when they rubbed his belly. They discovered more about the neighborhood running him, which Chris insisted was vital to a dog's temperament. The neighborhood itself wasn't over-large and literally walking distance from the military base. A few miles in the opposite direction was a strip of shops, furniture imports, salons, a pizzeria, restaurants, grocery store, and no less than three coffee shops within the same mile radius. And just a mile beyond that was a large mall with probably the worst designed parking lot Duo had ever seen. He swore to Heero, loudly, he would avoid that mall like the plague come Christmas.

The temperature dropped noticeably on Thursday, and on Friday their furniture arrived. Doug, Chris's brother, perked up perceptibly at the notion of helping them assemble it all. Heero didn't like him. Of course, Doug was too simple to read that in the set of Heero's shoulders, but Duo knew. Maybe it was because Heero couldn't trust an unstable mind to not become suddenly--well--unstable.

And funnily, Doug seemed thoroughly _im_perceptive to Heero's warning glare, apparently making it his sole, fervent mission to impress Heero with his ability to lift furniture, make forts, sweep floors and order pizza. During lunch, Duo finally interceded and allowed Doug to show him his collection of video games, giving Heero a much needed break after his willpower against snapping at the guy became strained to the point Heero's body was quivering.

Saturday was quiet, their neighbor's house seeming empty, even Nefie gone, and Heero and Duo could barely look at each other, gazing instead at their new dog, new furniture, freshly painted walls...anything else. Until about one o'clock in the afternoon when Duo abruptly burst into laughter, holding his sides as his hysteria shook his body, shook the room, the whole house—shook an incredulous grin from Heero's lips. Goofy, because suddenly, in the quiet, in the absence of Chris and her family, their anxiety seemed weirdly unnatural.

Duo wandered, chuckling, into the kitchen and began preparing a meal of eggs and cheese Hilde used to make for him, conscious of Heero watching almost fondly from the doorway.

Sunday they spent in bed.

~*~

"I know," Duo said, slurping down his watery oatmeal breakfast. "Why don't we call him 'Trio'?" Duo couldn't decide if Heero's aghast expression was for the idea, or for his choice of breakfast. "What?"

Heero shook his head and turned to the coffeemaker, poured himself a mug, drank it black and steaming. Monday morning dawned cold and frosty, the non-winterized glass windows and patio doors foggy against the chill outside. Their cabbie would be arriving any minute. Duo briefly considered mutiny, but decided Wufei would only track them down again. Of course that was assuming Heero would run with him.

"You don't like 'Trio'?"

Heero grunted. "Why not 'Maple'?"

Duo frowned and rolled his eyes. "Heero, he's black and grey and white. And grey. And look, he's got grey on him. Why the hell would we call him 'Maple'? He's _grey_. And he's a grey '_he_'."

"Fine. Why not 'Willow'? There's a grey-ish connotation to 'Willow'."

"I'm not gonna name him after a tree."

"Why not."

"My dog pisses on trees and chews on branches, like a good dog. I'm not gonna name him after one."

"I like 'Willow'."

"Well, I like Trio."

"Our pit isn't Solo the Third."

"Hey, that's fucked up." Duo turned to rinse his bowl out, set it in the sink with a small clatter. Outside in the drive, a black Lincoln pulled up. Duo grabbed his duffel, packed with imperatives, just in case. Heero brought nothing but the clothes on his back and his badge. "That's really fucked up."

Heero was already trotting down the stairs to the middle landing. "How about 'Cedar'?"

"No. And fuck you."

Heero was almost certainly grinning, but Duo couldn't tell. He watched him slide into his jacket from the terrace, leaning on the wrought iron rail. "You put down the pee pads?" Heero called up.

"Yeah." Duo caught his coat as Heero tossed it to him, tried not laugh at hearing Heero actually say 'pee pads', flipped their driver the finger when he honked the horn. "You know, we should probably just have Chris walk him when we're at work. Give her a key."

"She wasn't home to ask." Ah, so that bugged him.

"Well, when she is, we should ask."

"Fine. You can ask. You ready yet?"

"I'm not askin' her shit, Heero. You're the one she makes eyes at."

Heero glared up at him, and Duo batted his lashes, laughed when Heero yanked the front door open and stomped outside. Duo heard scuffling against his bedroom door, felt a tug at his heart, a lance of guilt for keep the pit bull cooped up all day. When he launched himself inside the backseat of the Lincoln beside Heero, he resumed their conversation as if there had never been a pause. "When we get back, I'm building him a doghouse."

Heero nodded. "Wool lining. It's getting cold outside. How about 'Birch'?"

"Firstly, 'Birch' is a girl's name. Secondly, birch is a tree. And thirdly, fuck you."

Heero smiled mildly, a faint crinkling at the corner of his eyes. "Why not Dogwood?"

"Ha ha, no."

"Deciduous?"

"No."

"Conifer?"

"No."

"Chanticleer?"

"What?"

"It's a Shade tree." Heero was trying his best to stay stone-faced. Oh so ever gallant.

"No," Duo growled.

"Redspire?" Heero glanced at him and looked away just as quickly. "It's a pear tree, a Willow."

"You're gonna give him a complex."

"I'm trying to give you a complex."

"Yeah, it's working." Duo rubbed at his temples.

"How about Patmore," their driver suggested, catching the theme of the conversation.

"Eyes on the road," Duo snapped sourly.

"Actually." Heero sat up, looking thoughtful. "Ash tree. Ash. Ash is as grey as it gets."

"It's still a tree."

"Unless the glass is half full," Heero argued lackadaisically. The Lincoln was slowing at the barricade outside the military base, the driver speaking lowly to the guard. "What's your thing with trees, anyway?"

Duo gazed out of the window, shuddering at his view of thick forest, spindly trees thinning as their leaves turned yellow and orange and brown. He hesitated, and then spoke in a rushed, awed voice, quietly because he didn't want their nosy, irritating driver to hear. "They're living organisms, Heero. They breath and grow—and these fuckers," he said, jabbing a finger towards the window, in the direction of the line of trees fencing the road, "are _old_. Not used to seeing crap like that in space. The oldest living thing up there is a person, and people don't freak me out. People, I'm used to."

Heero was giving him a look, a look Duo remembered all too well giving others on countless occasions. The you've-got-to-be-kidding look. Duo felt a rush of defensiveness. "Oh don't do that, _ass._ Don't pretend you don't remember what it was like to be able to look up at the boundless sky the first time, the way the ocean might've swallowed you whole if you turned your back on it, the way the moon actually looks _pretty_ from down here. You remember. I'll get used to it. Back off."

It was heavily quiet for a long painful moment. Duo felt his face burning as he scowled at the back of the seat in front of him, feeling the weight of Heero's eyes on him as Mr. Perfect attempted to analyze that, him—and realized Heero probably never felt afraid of the sky or the sea before. Wasn't ever afraid of anything but himself back then. And even that's passed. And all the while Duo...he gets jumpy around loud noises, careless bumping bodies, remarks he can't dissemble right away. Afraid of everything, now, wasn't he? Stupid. Maybe Preventers won't want him anymore, once they found out what a spook he'd become.

"We're here," the driver said, and Duo was out of the car before the man even finished, or put the car in park. Heero followed more slowly, more thoughtfully, and Duo couldn't even guess what was going on inside that head. General Eckhart wasn't there, but two of the same armed Marines stood by, leading the two new ones in a snappy salute as they jogged forward to hop on the 'copter. Duo halfheartedly released them, his salute turning into some sign of the cross, eff you hybrid. One Marine smiled, the rest looked bemused. Duo didn't care, even after all the work he'd put into that salute last week. The flight was quick, taking them over the Nation's capitol and their ancient architecture that was still an infant compared to most of the world, and into Virginia where they passed Langley and landed not fifty miles south of that on a patch of land surrounded by ocean. The Preventer building mimicked the one in Madrid, but dwarfed the European version. It was massive and long and fenced ominously. No one got in or out without heavy clearance. Wufei was waiting for them on the airstrip, surrounded by a new escort of Preventers and not a single other familiar face.

The bird lifted off again just after they had jogged a few safe yards away. Duo turned to watch the helicopter fly away, Heero moved forward to greet Wufei, but not before leaning to whisper, "Get your head on straight. I need you to focus on spotting the bullshit so we don't get our asses handed to us today. You're better at that then I am. Understand?"

Duo gave him a stiff nod, felt the cold of his continuing forward, but also let the tension out of his shoulders, his scowl smooth away, his thoughts become a bit less crowded. It helped to think Heero was on his side on at least this, that they needed to be a team to survive this crap without being manipulated into anything else they did not want to do. It just helped to think that Heero was on his side.

He didn't hear the pleasantries because of the whir of the helicopter blades, and when the bird was out of range, it was quiet; the people amassed waiting for Duo to acknowledge them. It was the first time since wanting to hit Wufei in Madrid that he actually, honestly, felt childish. Fuck trees, anyway. He turned, smirked at Wufei, and said: "Where to, boss?"

Heero's face was smooth and gave nothing away. It was almost shocking seeing him like that again, after weeks peeking underneath the stone mask. He'd almost taken Heero's openness for granted. Wufei looked sharp in his olive on black uniform, Deputy Director indeed, or Assistant, it seems, as Duo peered at his breast stitch. His expression was a little anticipatory, a little too wide-eyed as the man tried to predict Duo's next move. The people behind Wufei were beginning to shift their weight. Duo won the stare-down, a little victory, watching Wufei's expression settle, a little amused quirk to one heavy black brow suggesting he'd laugh, maybe, if they didn't have company. He imagined Wufei saying, Oh Duo, exasperatedly, a little contemptuously, as if Duo was nothing more than a petulant child, even though Wufei would never. Duo wondered when he'd get to sock him in the mouth without getting a bullet between the eyes. Probably should wait until after swearing in.

Wufei turned abruptly, stiff-spined, but only because he'd always done so, just so, and led them toward a hangar off the side of the airstrip. The entourage shuffled in after Heero and Duo, who drew closer together, shoulder to shoulder, as they followed Wufei. Hangar was huge, suggesting more than 'copters and planes came through here—interesting—and at the one end, a trolley waited to drive them to their next destination. Duo saw a fire escape plaque on the wall as he found his seat, a section of HQ mapped out. He memorized it. Wufei became their driver, which made Duo smile for reasons unknown to even him, and he visualized the little plaque as they wove in and out of hangars, hallways, bunkers, past a large hall that looked like Mess, or at least one of them. Wufei stopped several times, and each time some of their entourage left the trolley. No introductions, no straight looks or friendly smiles. Just there and gone like maybe they weren't ever there to satisfy their curiosity. Perhaps they were being briefed for something before Heero and Duo arrived. Not as interesting. Wufei parked the trolley in a section of a hall that seemed to get suddenly smaller, thinner, and they disembarked to walk the rest of the way. Wufei finally began to talk, taking them down winding, mark-less halls that were empty except for filmy overhead lights and bad watercolor paintings lining the walls. It felt like a hospital in this section of the building. Wufei's voice was smooth and sure and a little lower than he remembered it in Madrid, or on Quatre's patio.

"Every morning, upon landing, you will take the trolley to Lot 16 and sign in," Wufei was saying. "Afterwards, you will go to your office and settle in for an hour. During this time you will brief on any new assignment, any upcoming assignment, plan out your day for a current assignment. If you're on mission, of course, your routine will become variable. After briefing, you will report directly to whatever division you are assigned to at that time. Are you with me so far?"

Neither said anything, neither nodded. Wufei continued on anyway. "Une wanted to handle the two of you herself, which is why we had to wait a week to swear you in. She had business in Europe, just got back. There are files you need to read over, manuals you need to review, paperwork to sign—today will be boring. Brace for that." Wufei fell quiet, turning to a door and unlocking it by pressing his finger against a mechanism by the handle. His finger came away with a pinprick of blood ballooning slightly, discreetly, and the door swung open. Within was another hallway, a larger one, more expensive. They followed Wufei through more twists and turns, the doors lining these halls massive and lacquered wood, some rooms paneled by glass and only slightly opaque, some completely transparent, some conference style with men and women in business suits staring intently at a large screen depicting some grid, some analyzed material, or sitting in a large circle around some massive desk, sipping ice water and debating some politick. There, at the end of the hall, a set of large cherry wood doors with ornate handles and intricate engravings. Just before, an opening with a large corporate desk, two women seated behind it with microphones in their ears, speaking rapidly and quietly to whoever was on the line. Both girls pretty in a severe, straight-faced sort of way, one dark-haired and dark-skinned, the other self-tanned and bleach-haired. Neither looked up, but the self-tanned one waved at them with a quick flick of her wrist. Wufei never broke stride and went immediately to the double doors, pulling them open after a buzz and a click, and stepped aside so Heero and Duo could venture within.

Another massive room, of course, thank you very much. Encased in glass except for the one single wall the doors were attached to, the sprawling sky dazzling just beyond the three large wall-windows. Thick rugs over the carpeted floor, muffling their footsteps to nothing but a whisper, a living room facing a plasma television suctioned to the glass on the left side, a wet bar on the right, and several filing cabinets behind a large oak desk most likely hauled from Une's former office in France—unless that particular one ended up in Brussels, and maybe this one came from Victoria. Duo sighed, looking apathetically at the claw-footing, the intricate engravings, wondering if that desk alone cost more than his gundam ever did. And it was probably just as heavy.

Lady Une sat behind it, hunched over something beside her monitor and scribbling furiously on it with a ball-point pen. A slight frown twisted her mouth, her thin brown hair falling like a curtain over her face, her blue suit jacket rustling as her shoulders moved to accommodate her stiff, jerky movements. Wufei closed the door and left them standing aimlessly in the middle of the room, meandering casually over to the set of couches and sitting down. Wufei rested his head on the back of the white leather sofa and closed his eyes. Duo looked at Heero. Heero returned his gaze for a brief moment, and then Une threw down her pen with a disgusted sigh and pushed her hair away from her face. With an angry movement, Une yanked the phone chord from her phone, preventing any calls, and tossed it to the floor.

"Council's not budging on the Charter," she announced suddenly, pushing the file she'd been immersed in away from her. "Stupid pissers."

"Funding?" Wufei murmured, his eyes still closed.

"That's the excuse they're giving. But that's the most moronic—it doesn't cost anything to sign a piece of paper."

"They're stalling."

"Yes, but now its obvious. It's giving cause for protests in parts of the world that wouldn't otherwise think twice about Africa. They're waiting _too long_."

"Some people will take any reason to protest," Wufei said, his eyes sliding open, his black gaze landing on Duo.

Duo smiled like the Pope. "Don't push your luck, Wufei."

Une ignored them both, standing abruptly and taking the topmost sheet of paper with her as she quickly crossed the room, smoothing down her skirt and yanking the door behind them open. "Nelly! Type this up and fax it Mansfield." The door was closed again and suddenly she was facing them. She ran a hand through her hair, her brown eyes hard and unreadable. She gestured to the two seats in front of the desk. "Don't bother saying you'll stand. I'm not in the mood for the ego trip." She was back behind her desk before Heero's hand even landed on the back of his designated chair. They sat.

"I'm going to run through this once," she said, "and once only. I'll send you off with the Preventer's Manual and a few other files so you don't forget, even though you shouldn't. I'll preamble by saying thank you for considering Preventers as your career choice. We're hiring you as Prerequisite Fundamentals Officers, which is a pretty way of saying advisor. Because of the nature of your position, you'll answer directly to me—and if you waste my time with petty displays of testosterone, immoral extracurricular, physical disputes, or any my dick is bigger than your dick whatsoever, _so help me_. Do I make myself clear?"

It was quiet as a grave. Une continued. "Preventers are the organization that upholds the Inter-Intelligence and Prevention Act of A.C. 195. There within, it describes the role of Preventers to connect and analyze intelligence provided from International and Colonial Intelligence, and to provide paramilitary support in Covert Special Activities. Thereby, we are the sole analytical team of International and Colonial Estimates Prevention." Une paused. "You can see why we like to simplify by just saying Preventers, yes?"

Duo resisted the urge to cough rudely, slouched a little in his chair. Fancy lingo for saying we're the fuckers who connect the dots.

Une inhaled deeply and wet her lips, finally taking a moment to look at them, really look at them, gauge where Heero and Duo were with her. Whatever her conclusion, she kept to herself. "Tric Mansfield is our Director of International and Colonized Prevention Intelligence, our liaison between the President of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation and the DPI. I am considered the Directorate of Prevention Intelligence. We have several divisions and several sub-divisions under them. Quickly, and please keep up with the acronyms, we have: The Transnational and Space Reconnaissance Office; the surveillance, counter surveillance and cryptography of ideal Prevention Cases and the preparation of Estimates, quick response publications, guidance in a crisis, and fore-estimated disturbances with interagency consensus.

"Deputy Director for Plans, Felix Geoffrey, runs the Covert Special Activities Division, or CSAD, and is assisted by your friends Chang Wufei and Sally Po. This division includes the Special Preventions Group, SPG, and overall includes covert political influence and paramilitary operations. SPG is the element within CSAD responsible for paramilitary operations, which are the collection of intelligence in hostile and/or denied areas and all high threat military and/or intelligence operations when ESUN does not wish to be overtly associated with such activities."

Duo refused to look at Wufei, staring instead straight past Une's shoulder. Beside him, Heero was so still he could have been a rock. He remembered what Kim had told him in Madrid, and clenched his teeth together.

"Next, is the Office of Transnational and Space Issues which applies unique functional expertise to asses existing and emerging threats to ESUN international and colonial security, and provides the most senior ESUN policymakers, military planners, and law enforcement with analysis, warning and crisis report. Our Space Liaison Division specializes in colonial intelligence and space reconnaissance, and these fine people answer directly, and only, to OTSI.

"With the support of the Office of Terrorism Analysis, the International and Colonial Counterterrorism Center provides paramilitary support for Counterterrorism Special Activities." Duo almost found that funny. His teeth nearly squeaked under the pressure of his clenched jaws.

"Our Crime and Narcotics Center," Une continued, "researches information on international and colonial narcotics trafficking and organized crime for policymakers and the law enforcement communities of ESUN. Since Preventers have no domestic police authority, it sends analytic information to ESUN's Drug Enforcement Administration."

Duo sat up straighter for that. No domestic policing authority? That might actually be something he could get behind. Finally.

Une's voice continued to fill up the empty space of her office, interrupted only by the very faint sounds of breathing, ticking off divisions like she was reading a list in her brain. "Our Defense Threat Reduction Agency provides intelligence support with international and colonized threats, as well as supporting threat reduction and arms control. Primary function is to account for rogue mobile suit machinery and supplementary factories. Lucrezia Noin is the former Commander of DTRA, and was most noted for her involvement in the 196 'Incident'.

"Information Operations Center Preventer Analysis evaluates foreign threats to ESUN computer systems, particularly those that support critical infrastructures. It works with critical infrastructure protection organizations in the ESUN Department of Defense.

"Directorate of Science and Technology creates and applies innovative technology in support of the intelligence collection mission. Their primary focus is to create and apply counter-technology for rogue mobile machinery. They also focus on Application Software and Analytics, Bio, Nuclear and Chemical Technologies, Communications and Infrastructure, Digital Identity and Security, and Embedded Systems and Power." Slight movement from Heero, a thoughtful tilt to his head.

"Our Preventers Special Forces Assessment and Selection Division is a unique opportunity for former military and intelligence officers and soldiers to enlist and train under the Preventers standard, and work towards Preventers Selection. And our Preventers Enlistment Division provides civilian training." Une paused, shuffled something on her desk. "Preventers cooperate and connect intel with ESUN recognized international services, as well as separate divisions broken off by respective colony clusters. This is an on-going movement as more and more territories are splintered off and spoken for." She met Heero's eyes for the briefest of seconds. "I understand you're aware of the situation in Kenya, Mr. Yuy."

Heero nodded, but gave away nothing further. Une glanced at Duo once and continued. "Until these splintered nations are recognized by the Council, we do not adhere to them. The ones we do communicate with, however, are the UK Secret Intelligence Service, or M16, the Canadian Secret Intelligence Services, CSIS, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service, the US Central Intelligence Agency, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service, or _Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki_, SVR, France's Direction _Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure_, Israel's _Mossad_, the South African Secret Service, Lunar Cluster One Intelligence Committee, Lunar Cluster Two Office of Strategic Services, Intelligence Service of Lunar Cluster Three, and Secret Intelligence Committee of Lunar Cluster Four."

Recent, these colonial intelligence divisions, in nothing but name. Really, these new intel groups 'recognized' by ESUN were made up of the cast and crew who previously added the creations and implementations of things like gundams and Op. M. Tricky, because unless ESUN casts a special eye on them, they might run wild like White Fang and cause another Mariemaia 196 'Incident', especially now that its pretty given none of the Docs were coming back from the grave, even if they were in fact somehow alive. Duo figured that granting them title and vote at Council, giving them special liaisons to Preventers, making it all very official, represents a sense of autonomy to colonials who were willing to meet in private nearly a decade ago and launch gundams and fire beam canons inside colonies in the defiant scream for independence. Pity they never gave Kenya that option. It doesn't get much fancier than having your own certified 'Intel Group'. Ridiculous. But smart. Might work in the long run. Duo wondered if that was Une's idea, or maybe if it was even Relena's. Rumor had it she had 'Catty' Catalonia under her wing, whispering in her ear again about how to preach smart, keep your head above the flames.

Une was looking at him. Duo arched his brows, disappearing them under the fringe of his hair. "So, okay, we get it. We're the fuckers that connect the dots."

"Uncouth, but yes. And no." Une gestured to herself and Wufei. "_We're_ the fuckers who connect the dots; _you're_ the fuckers that help us connect the dots when we don't know our ass from our elbow." And then to top it off, she smiled. Duo felt mildly ill.

"So, okay. Okay." Duo shifted. "What's next?"

Une's smile vanished, her face serious all over again. "Let's talk straight, Mr. Maxwell. I know you don't trust me, or Preventers, or even the man sitting next to you. That's a problem, because if you don't trust us, it's going to be extraordinarily difficult to trust you. But this is my dilemma. The masses know you. There's still a lot of anger out there for gundam attacks, particularly the one that resulted in the obliteration of an entire minor colony."

"I didn't blow that colony," Duo said through his teeth.

"I'm not tossing out accusations here," Une said smartly. "The people are doing that better than anyone here ever could. So, again, you're a problem for me. Because, yes, Relena insisted on ESUN granting the five, six, hundred thousand of you clemency. So, really, I can't just toss you in jail and throw away the key—which is a shame because I would then know you're safe and I would know the rest of the world is safe too. But I can't, which is why you're here."

"How far we've come from turning off the oxygen," Duo said acidly.

"Hm," Une hummed dismissively. "Yes, well. Another issue is that both of you are exceedingly over-qualified. PFO is a position designed for your specific qualifications. You'll be Shifters, moving within divisions, helping wherever and whenever you're needed. I will decide those assignments. You will report to me. And the two of you will be partners until otherwise designated. I do not think I need to reiterate the positive in your favor for taking this job. I am fairly certain you've already been thoroughly briefed. I will remind you that the possibilities for advancement within Preventers are limitless. Everything you've ever wanted seen done, any wrong you've ever wanted righted, you can do that here. And don't try to sell me for a single minute that a fifteen-year-old that climbs into a gundam doesn't grow up a teensy bit disgruntled at the world he sees around him. Especially you, Mr. Maxwell, who just had his home burned down, his girlfriend leave him for another man, his work blacklisted, and his real estate sold. You cannot tell me you don't still have some righteousness to burn off."

Duo felt the insolence creep, like a cold slime drifting down his nose, his throat, his fingertips and toes. Give 'em hell, Solo would have said. Duo smiled blackly. "Give me a gun, I'll see what wrongs I can right for you."

Une smile was even colder. "One foot out of line, Maxwell, and that cell will become a permanent residence. Heed me."

"Do you even know me?" Duo spat. "Really, Une, _one foot_? I require no less than twenty."

"You kill someone, or cause someone to be killed that was not predetermined by this office, Maxwell, and those twenty feet become none."

"Deal." Heero was staring at him. Duo leaned his head in his direction. "Don't worry, Yuy. I can just about guarantee they won't ever send me to assassinate anybody."

"Quite," Une agreed ambiguously. "Now, for thirty pieces of silver, I need you to sign here."

~*~

So. All things considered, nothing Duo didn't know already. Certainly, Une put things into perspective for him. She basically threatened him with imprisonment for petulance. Empty, that, because there wasn't a cell on this planet that could hold Duo Maxwell—and all parties involved knew it.

They spent the next half hour signing their life away, Heero never making a single fucking sound. Whatever Wufei promised him in that hotel room must have been a gold mine of a--a lifetime supply of photo negatives or something, because Heero's compliance was starting to really itch. Afterwards, Wufei silently led them back into the dungeon, showed them how to get to their lockers from Lot 16, and gave them uniforms to change into. He left them, then, to stand outside the locker room to change.

Duo yanked off his jacket and tossed it onto the bench. Heero laid his hand on Duo's arm, and he jerked it away. After that, Heero didn't bother him again. Once changed, Duo stared at his Preventer jacket, still folded on the counter to his left. Dark navy with olive lapels; ugly, even for military standards. Duo loathed it, hated the 'PFO' stitched on the breast, his newly assigned codename 'Blackbird' just under it. He despised that once he put it on, he'd believe in it, know in his core he'd come to work tomorrow with a reason, a must, a commitment he never wanted to feel. He'd left this crap behind when he opened Maxwell Scrap. He looked up, and immediately wished he hadn't. His reflection stared back at him from the little rectangle of mirror on the inner flat of his locker. Burning eyes glared back at him, sunken amongst the dark circles between his fringe and his cheeks, the bones in his face pressed jaggedly against his skin, his mouth sloping down in a grimace. He wondered if he would look very different dead. Duo put on the jacket.

Heero wore his new uniform like a second skin. Man could make anything look good. Wufei knocked on the door and then let himself in, black eyes lifting to appraise them both approvingly. Wufei didn't say anything, he didn't have to. It was enough for Duo to have him just stand there within arm's reach. Duo let his fist fly, glancing Wufei across his left cheekbone before Heero was there, manhandling him back towards the opposite end of the locker room.

"Knock it off," Heero growled in his ear, as Wufei straightened, fingers probing and coming back with only a little blood. Duo's hands came up in a passive gesture. He felt better already, and allowed a humorless grin stretch his face.

"I'll let you have that one," Wufei said quietly, frowning at the red smudge on his fingertips. "I know I deserved it."

"What is that, an honor pledge?" Duo laughed nastily. "Your intel here sucks, man. Hilde was never my girl, and you were the fuckers that sold my yard. You deserve more than a black eye, you fuck twat."

Wufei's head snapped up, his dark eyes blazing. "Une made her own conclusions and, no, we didn't touch your real estate. That was solely L2."

"Whatever, boring. What's next?"

Wufei's mouth twisted as if he was going to say something else, but Heero must have been glaring at him because he turned and left the locker room. After a disapproving shake of his head, Heero followed.

"You can fucking blow me, Yuy," Duo called after him, and slammed his locker closed.

They were assigned new badges next, and Wufei showed them how to move through the higher classification zones. Some required a blood sample, others retina scans, some bar codes or manual codes, and for some of the more restricted areas, a combination of that and more. After arriving in Mess and being handed a pair of manuals, Wufei left them to study and eat. Duo smiled in grim satisfaction at the darkening bruise just under his left eye. Heero finished reading through his manual in forty-five minutes. Duo put his down for a sloppy joe after page two. It was just more 'we're the fuckers that connect the dots and it's a good idea not to fuck your co-worker' jargon.

After Mess, Wufei returned to lead them to their offices where they briefly met a handful of other Preventers that eyed them curiously but said less than little. Then they were taken to the gym, which took up a good tenth of the entire establishment. There were the basic machines, buts dozens of them, three Olympic-sized pools, a couple acres of outdoor recreation, two high ropes courses, and four low ropes, several tracks and eight courts used for various sports. After this quick, silent tour, Wufei led them to the Preventers Special Forces Assessment and Selection Division office. He left them there, just outside the door. Just turned on his heel, and without a word, left them there. Heero stared at Duo until Duo looked back at him, acknowledging the accusation in Heero's blue eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about," Duo muttered. "Kim said we'd skip most of the crap."

Inside, they met several blank stares until someone murmured, "PFO." A slight boy, just barely over eighteen, rushed into a back office and retrieved another man who reminded Duo of old OZ generals, thick-skinned and leather-faced, deep lines everywhere and eyes turned grey with rage or apathy or too many losses to count. His breast read Deputy Director Fitzgerald.

For the next four hours, they ran track, lifted weights, swam, sprinted, climbed, and sparred, tested heart rates, blood pressure and the rest. Duo won every fight he didn't have with Heero, and only two with--which was sobering. He'd been hoping, maybe, that Heero was out of shape, but he should have known better. And Heero seemed to have enjoyed the opportunity to vent his irritation with Duo, making him really work for every one of those two spars. Fitzgerald remarked that their scores were as high as Wufei's when he'd started, which he considered, apparently, impressive, and also told them to be prepared for technical, analytical, psychological and industrial tests similar to the physical over the next few days—just to be sure their abilities were scored and on file. Heero didn't like that, his heavy brows dropping ferociously low over his eyes, startling the pleased grin from the Deputy Director. Wufei returned for them at five and led them back to the locker room. He did not go inside with them.

The journey home was quiet, tensely contemplative. Chris had both Nefie and their still-yet-unnamed pit on leashes when they pulled up in the drive, a thunderous expression darkening her pretty face. Duo thought his own temper might snap if Heero didn't handle her immediately. The mere notion that their neighbor had been inside their locked home while they were away just about blowing the fuse on a very bad day. The cold felt good on his face when he stepped out of the car, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as Chris began her tirade.

"...do you have any idea how anxious a dog can get left alone like that for hours? I could hear him barking from my living room! You _can't_—"

Duo decided not to wait for Heero. "Chris, you broke into our home."

Chris stilled. "I did not. The door was unlocked, the dog was barking. I assumed you wouldn't leave the house open if you didn't want me able to go in to take care of him for you."

Duo opened his eyes, looked from her to Heero. Heero was waiting on his answer, his head tilted in that curious way he does, when he was genuinely interested in Duo's reaction. His body was angled somewhat between the two of them, though, just in case. "We're gonna build him a doghouse tonight," Duo said tiredly, listening absently to the sound of the Lincoln pulling away. "And it would be really awesome if you could walk him for us."

"Okay," Chris said slowly, warily. "Okay, sure. Good idea. How was your first day?" Her gaze turned toward Heero, but he only smiled wearily at her and lowered his eyes to their excited pit as Chris handed him the leash.

"It sucked," Duo said plainly. "I sold my soul to the devil and punched my friend in the face."

"Nice," Chris remarked. "You thought of a name for your pit yet?"

"Yeah," Duo said, scratching the dog behind his ears. "We're calling him Ash."

**To be continued...**


	9. Reclama

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: Une looked up then, her gaze icy. But Duo didn't care. He laughed until he had tears in his eyes. Heero leaned forward, trying to drown out the sound of Duo's incredulity, and attempted to piece together what Duo already had.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.  
**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow  
**Spoiler Warning**: Duo-isms pulled heavily from Episode Eight.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: I'm becoming wrapped up in this in the best way. Every chance I get, which in all fairness, isn't very often, I grab a computer and work on this story. It's a great feeling. Thank you all for reading, and for the many of you who have left reviews. I appreciate all of you.

Yours,

Gloria

P.S. I just realized I've been mixing up my own terms. Silly me. I went from Floater to Shifter for the nickname for PFO in Preventers—still debating on whether or not that really matters, but hell, I guess that's what I get for the crazy hiatus. And in the gw-fan and 1x2ml, I didn't catch one terrible typo in time to fix it. Wrote sub-character Kim's name as Ken several times in the last chapter. Very sorry. Kim is still Kim, Ken is...a ghost. Yep, definitely a ghost. Now this fic has a supernatural element. Never saw that one coming, did ya? Anyway, enjoy.

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Eight

**Reclama**

AC 203

There was a rustling, the pitter-patter of bare feet on hard-wood floor, the click and clack of Ash's toenails, the whisper of the bedroom door opening and closing, and then the dip of Duo's weight back on the bed. Quiet, then, as Duo lay still beside him, waiting for Heero to wake, knowing he was already, but waiting for him anyway. Heero opened his eyes, saw Duo staring at the ceiling, his bare chest all whites and greys in the dim dawn light. Heaving, just a little, but just enough tremble as it rose to the stream of muted light from the window, just enough to make Heero nervous. Not unusual, for Duo to let the dog out even before Heero started registering morning. Not unusual, either, for Duo to pounce on him first thing, a mutual correspondence of morning wood. But Heero was slowly coming to an understanding of this new Duo, this older, scarred, more embittered Duo. Duo was revving up for something. And when Duo had to think carefully about how to put his words together, it was usually like taking the time to contemplate which wires should touch to make most use out of the bomb in his hands.

"It sucks." A lance through the silence. Nothing more than a whisper, quiet, even for Duo, but jarring enough to crack the calm, to strip away the last bits of muggy-headed sleep.

"What sucks," Heero said, his voice deep with the last bits of fatigue.

White on his knuckles, curled into the sheets that were bundled up between him and Heero. Heero shifted the pillow against his cheek, circled it between his arm and his neck so he could see Duo's face better. A flash of purplish-indigo as Duo snuck a glance down at him with the corner of his eye; all nerves, that. Heero wondered why Duo's eyes looked purple in this light. Dusk and dawn. Always so blue otherwise.

"Sucks that I'm too fucking busy being angry at everything." Duo's mouth turned down in a scowl, just briefly, and then relaxed. His expression turned comically exasperated as he stared up at the ceiling. "I have, arguably, the coolest job in the galaxy, and I get to do it with the hottest guy in the universe—and I'm pissing it away and I can't figure myself out for half a second to slow down and knock it off."

This was new. Heero adjusted again, sat upright, curled his arm under Duo's shoulders and pulled him close. Duo's cheek on his chest, now, but at least Heero didn't have to watch Duo stare at nothing. At least now Duo knew Heero got that this was important. White knuckles still white, but fingers curled in Heero's shirt instead. Heero played idly with Duo's hair as he waited for him to talk again, knowing in his gut there was more.

There had to be, because Duo would fight until his last breath. He would go down kicking and screaming and giving the finger, especially now, when every single freedom Duo had had been knocked off the totem, tumbled down and snatched away. Every single one of them. Heero didn't expect Duo to not be angry about this for a long time. But he was worth it, anyway.

Because—even if it was enough to know Duo was trying, and that he was irritated with himself, and—and that there was still at least a little part of Duo that still wanted Heero. Hard to remember when his smiles seemed a little too put on, and his jokes came a little too expected, and the sex felt just a little too mechanical. Made Heero feel less panicked, because every time he considered what he would do if Duo decided to bolt, his mind went blank. Because when he was fifteen and he thought of what it would be like to settle down and make a friend and live a life without blowing things up and killing generals and humbling nations—it was Duo's face that sprang up with a vengeance. And even if it was naive, and maybe even childish, or foolish, or dumb, it was still Duo's face. It was still Duo that meant home to him, even if the same man was in his arms, in his house, and none of it felt like _home_ yet. It was simple to understand, too, because it was one of the few things about inter-personal relationships Heero registered right away. Duo was his wingman. It came as natural as breathing. And Heero trusted him—at least as far as Duo would let him. But Duo was his wingman. Heero didn't know how to say that, though, anymore than Heero knew how to say 'I want to make you happy' or 'I'm always going to give a shit about you' or—or even that other one that that made his brain freeze up and his breath disappear. That little phrase that would probably send Duo running anyway, so it didn't bear thinking at all...

Abruptly, Duo rolled onto him, settled upright on his hips, gripping Heero's hands as if he were afraid he would try and shake him off. His eyes were strange. Dark and wide, anticipatory but not in a way that made Heero feel good about anything. Heero remembered this face, suddenly, remembered it from the day Duo's face sprang up on his left monitor, snarled at him to move out of the way—because he was carrying Hilde in a broken mecca. And then later, when he was casually mentioning the disc she brought back and daring any one of them to try and take it from him. The way he'd looked at Heero. Just on the brink of fear, but more on the brink of pain, of desperation, of giving up the tough-guy routine because the burden was getting too heavy. Just a little too heavy.

"You know I appreciate you, right?" Duo whispered, his breath on his face, his eyes bearing down. "You know that, Heero, don't you?"

Heero didn't move his hands, not because he couldn't, of course, but because Duo didn't seem to want him to with that vice grip on his wrists. But Heero leaned in briefly, touched his forehead to Duo's, closed his eyes. He expected a kiss, even a fleeting one, and moved his head back when it didn't happen. Duo's eyes were still wide, still watching, still waiting and searching and trying to get something out without blowing them all to hell.

"Happiness isn't random, right Heero?" Duo murmured. "It doesn't just happen like the common cold, right? You have to choose in, you have to just make that effort, right?"

"I don't know," Heero hedged, honest at least. "I just—I know I can't want it more for you than you want it for you."

Duo nodded, and the stress was gone, the tension faded. Duo's fingers on his wrists relaxed, his eyes closed, his shoulders hunched forward. Heero leaned in again, loosened one hand and brought it up to cup Duo's cheek. "Doesn't have to be hard," Heero said, brushing his lips across Duo's brow, the tip of his nose. "Doesn't have to be difficult, I don't think."

Duo smiled, for that, a flash of sharp, white teeth, opened his eyes and gazed back at him, a sudden well of affection and tenderness there. "When were things ever uncomplicated and effortless with us, Heero? I shot you, and then you gutted my gundam." Duo closed his eyes again, a bitter sort of twist at the corner of his lips. "Wish I'd've known, then. Wish I'd've known what you'd do to me. I never would've let you on my ship."

Heero murmured some acquiescence, and then kissed him on the mouth. Lips and teeth and tongue saying I want to make you happy and I'll always care and You're my wingman and therefore precious and everything else. Duo let him, but barely responded.

~*~

_Stay out of my way; you want me to shoot ya?_

Heero pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked several times. His packet sniffer was only eighty-six percent complete and watching the binary was beginning to make his eyes water. Slowly, he let himself register the other conversations in the room. The office next to his was quiet and dark, per usual, Duo's laughing voice trailing over from the coffee machine where he engaged Tanner, a female Preventer that worked the phones for them. Steman and Mackle clicked away at their computers amidst the near-empty cubicle lot in the center of the large room, murmuring to each other about the latest films they saw, and Havenstein argued with someone on the phone, her hawk-like eyes narrowing fiercely, her pinched mouth making a grim slash across the bottom of her face. She glanced up at him, and then at Duo, hidden behind the large plant that attempted to veil off the little kitchenette, and then back again. Heero dropped his eyes, idly began another vulnerability scanner, and activated a rootkit just because he felt like it.

He was bored. Heero didn't want to talk to their co-workers because they were on rotation—which meant that in four hours there would be another set of them, and then in another eight there would yet another. They were eyes and ears. Nothing more. Heero and Duo would not work with them on an assignment, they were just...glorified secretaries, he supposed. Oddly, Duo found great amusement in charming them.

Duo found great amusement, lately, in charming everyone except the few who mattered. The rest, he lashed at. And suddenly, Heero found himself back on that list. And it was irritating too, because Duo had projects to do. Mainly hacks on cracks, like himself, but if he took Duo for his word, he was already done. Heero had twice as many, thus the watering eyes and the boredom while listening in to coffee-maker conversations. Une underestimated Duo's ability to Hatter, and fuck if Duo was going to offer helping Heero catch up. Better flyer, better hack his indigo eyes said when he left his office an hour before lunch to bullshit with Tanner—but really it was just that Une thought she was giving even production. Stupid. He was going to demand an assignment at the end of the day if she didn't give them one.

Heero pushed away from his desk, stood, put on his jacket. A good work out might put him in a better mood.

"...right, and then I told him to eat a bowl of gravy covered dick. I wasn't going to fly that thing. Goddamn Satan's cigar tube with propellers my ass. Death trap was what it was—where you off to, Reclama?"

Ha ha, Duo's new nickname. Une assigned Heero codename Apollo, but Duo swore he'd never call him that. Intelligence code for 'disagreement' to an estimate was a reclama. But no amount of glaring would get Duo to stop it.

"Gym," Heero answered shortly, and brushed past him. Satan's cigar tube with propellers? No, never mind. Heero didn't want to know. He was in the hall, two feet from the elevator when the door behind him opened again, and Duo was there.

"Hold on a sec," he said, touching his elbow and then retreating. "Havenstein's got a message from Une."

_Hey, kid! Don't just stand there, you'll get shot. _

Heero turned back, just in time to see the expression on Duo's face—a look that said he wasn't quite curious, just watchful, calculating. Unapologetic in a way that told Heero he knew exactly why he needed to blow off steam. It would be okay if Duo was simply trying to get on with the glorified secretaries, do the work fast and pussy-foot later. It would be okay if that look on his face didn't say he was doing it just to distance himself from the guy he worked with.

After the first week, they got used to the whispers, the hushed echo of 'PFO' as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, down the hall. There were no shortage of people that recognized Duo's face, but few looked twice and almost none stared. They would wait until he turned before hissing 'did you see that?' to each other. Most assumed Heero was the bodyguard, or at least the poor jackass put in place to make sure Duo Maxwell pilot of Deathscythe got through the throng hassle-free. It was the only reason Duo didn't become hostile. In fact, there were moments when it seemed so funny to Duo he couldn't hide it, grinning until Heero gave him a look that quelled him.

Week two made Heero fidgety, because both Wufei and Une were gone. Sally Po came to see them on Tuesday, using her undeniable charm to shake a carefree joke or two from Duo's lips, and took them both to lunch. You'll get used to it, she said in an aside to Heero. Wufei wasn't dissimilar, you'll find your niche soon enough.

The pay wasn't terrible, but it got to the point they didn't know what to do with it. It went in savings, because there was only so much they could eat, or the dog could need, or the house could require for further upgrades. They didn't need Jacuzzis or Persian throw-rugs or lifetime memberships to the zoo. Without the need to finance new identities or pay for hotel rooms or purchase airfare, the cost of living didn't seem all that cumbersome.

But Duo—Duo slept in his own room now, with Ash, who loved him unconditionally, and a space heater and a blanket and every goddamn reason why Heero ever came to this place at all. They shared meals, spoke conversations that rarely went bone deep, showed a united front at work even as they grew further apart—

_Don't just stand there..._

"Directorate Une returned this morning from Brussels," Havenstein said matter-of-factly when they were back inside. Tanner, Mackle, and Steman were quiet, the elephant in the room as they listened in. "She has an assignment for you. She would like to meet you before you break for Mess."

"Thanks, Hav," Duo said cheerfully.

Havenstein rolled her eyes, went back to playing her all-important tournament of Solitaire.

Une made them wait. Nelly and the blonde, Krista, click-clacked away on their computers, barely sparing them a glance. Duo lounged against the far wall. Heero felt compelled to stand at attention adjacent to the door to Une's office, feeling the prickle on the back of his neck that screamed of Duo's eyes on him. The morph happened the moment they set out for Une's office. Blank-faced, his mouth set, Duo set his nerves on edge.

Four men in suits carrying briefcases exited the office, closed the door behind them. Heero caught the sight of Une bent over paperwork before it shut. Moments later, a buzz from Nelly's phone. "The Directorate will see you now," she said.

Neither sat in the chairs in front of Une's desk, even though she gestured to them. Heero anticipated Duo's absolute, steel-edged refusal and decided to not make him a target. Une didn't bother looking at them as she began to talk, rifling through her documents and signing sheets here, checking off boxes there, everything oh-so-top secret. "Mauibi Kumbaki," she said, in that same tone she used on them when they swore in two weeks ago. "Has agreed to meet with a representative of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation on Kenyan soil on the anniversary of NARC's re-establishment."

_Hey, kid!_

Duo burst into laughter.

Une looked up then, her gaze icy. But Duo didn't care. He laughed until he had tears in his eyes. Heero leaned forward, trying to drown out the sound of Duo's incredulity, and attempted to piece together what Duo already had. Mauibi Kumbaki, candidate for a Kenyan presidency that would be voted in if ESUN would step out of the way long enough for them to establish a Parliament. Mauibi Kumbaki, the Kikuyu that rejuvenated the Liberal Democratic Party of his nation, stolen by Alliance and then taken by OZ and then overseen by ESUN. Mauibi Kumbaki, the man that established a Kenyan National Alliance Party, not yet recognized by ESUN, but of course that was half the problem. Mauibi Kumbaki agreeing to meet with someone from ESUN on an unrecognized national Kenyan holiday. Someone—but then that's not really the clue, is it. Is it. No, they were the clue. Preventers involvement. Specifically, _them_, Heero and Duo. Or just Heero—Jesus.

Relena.

"No," Heero said--demanded. "No. They have half a dozen individual sects of guerillas terrorists that do not back Kumbaki's decisions. There's no way we could control that situation. The capitol could be stormed—"

"I've already made my decision, Heero," a voice like tinkling bells came from a separate laptop on Une's desk. Une frowned at it, and then, with a very resigned sigh, turned it around. Relena smiled beatifically at him, her image lined horizontally with static but still radiant. "But that's very sweet of you."

Duo was still laughing, though it had become much less obtrusive and rude, just exasperatedly amused.

"Besides," Relena's image continued, her voice coming just half a beat later than her mouth moved, "I've weathered worse before. You should remember, Heero."

"I do," Heero said through his teeth.

And before he could continue, her smile became all fond and trusting and Heero knew he wouldn't deny her a goddamned thing. "I am confident you'll contribute a great deal to my safety. This could be just what the world needs to trust these new developments. I look forward to working with you again."

Again? Again! Every damn time Heero 'worked' with her he was either putting her in near-fatal danger or saving her from some lunatic and half that was bent on world domination. No, thank you.

"I am very sorry," she was saying, "but I must dash. And hello, Duo. It's very good to see you are well. I was worried after hearing of the fire."

Duo's smile towards her seemed genuine, at least, even as his voice was still laughing. "Back at ya, little lady. When are we flying you into Africa?"

"On the twenty-third," she answered readily. "Une will assuredly fill you in on the finer details, but I'll meet you at headquarters in the morning."

Duo's eyebrows crawled up his forehead, disappeared under his fringe, but his face otherwise gave nothing away. "Should be fun."

Une murmured a few things to her, Relena said a final goodbye, and when the laptop went black, Heero felt ready to strangle someone. "Wufei _promised_ me, Une. _He promised me_."

That earned a look from Duo, because Duo had had it all backwards and Heero never bothered to right it for him, but Heero ignored it, his eyes all for the woman that sat on her throne, the sky sprawling behind her, Trieze's protégé. "He promised that she would be safe," she said.

_Oh, so we didn't get them all._

"He promised her _un_-involvement," Heero spat.

"He was unaware of her plans to intercede on the ESUN's behalf," she countered. "And if he made that sort of promise, he probably shouldn't have. I don't know what Chang was thinking. Relena's not the sort to listen to—well, anybody, really. Did he really word it like that?"

"He implied," Heero grated.

"Christ, you're naive," Duo muttered somewhere behind him.

_Don't just stand there..._

"Fuck you. This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"That's precious, Heero. Really. Because _now_ it sounds like you dragged me into this hell of cubicles and pretentious authoritarian bullshit so Relena goddamn Peacecraft _wouldn't_ become involved in Victoria. Which the fuck is it?"

"I didn't drag you anywhere, if you recall. I am here so _I_ could be involved in Victoria; I just didn't want Relena to know it, and you didn't have to know it either. You followed because you didn't have anywhere else to go."

Dead quiet, then; and Heero knew he went too far. Too late to take it back. Duo would hear the truth of it, because he remembered their one and only date. The Kikuyu restaurant where Heero revealed his interest in the current affairs of Kenya, tested the limits of Duo's interest too. Showed him the photos of what was important to him, now. Wouldn't be so difficult to comprehend why he would join, given the right push in a certain direction. A doorway to walk through. An opportunity to make a right out of a wrong that didn't result in any fuck up _he_ ever made. Maybe earn redemption. But didn't want _her_ to know because of one damn promise he shouldn't have ever made because it was impossible. Impossible to just sit still and watch everything he bled for go to shit because there weren't enough people to keep it going.

Heero's only fault here, really, was wanting too much, was wanting everything, was wanting Duo to stay with him too much to let him go when he'd said yes to Wufei. He should have turned Duo away then. Should maybe have explained that enlisting had more to do with wanting to prevent another war than corralling Duo Maxwell _for_ Preventers. But he didn't. He invested him, and that was his crime. Heero knew he'd pay for it.

Une closed two manila folders with a heavy, silence-breaking thud on thud, pushed them towards the far edge of her desk. "Memorize the information here; you can take them with you. You'll be working with SPG on this one, but they won't be briefed until Monday. You're dismissed."

Duo was swift. Easy to forget that, when he didn't show it. It might be nice to see him deadly again, before it was bent on him. Duo grabbed his folder, tucked it under his arm, and was gone from the office before Heero could blink.

"Rein him in," Une said, a cautionary element to her voice.

Heero was in her face in the next instant, a rage building inside of him that was too dangerous to unleash. "You handled that badly, Une."

Une jerked backwards, her eyes narrowed. "No more than you have, Yuy. I continue to doubt your control over him, even if Chang was so certain."

"You people are incredible, you know that? I don't have any _control_ over him," Heero growled. "_None_. He does what he wants, when he wants. The man who gave him his gundam was the only one that could ever talk him down. He'll make a good Preventer, set a standard for the rest behind him—but it's not worth it to piss him off."

Une's smile was cold. "Ah, well, that's probably be true, Yuy. But I wasn't the one that just pissed him off."

~*~

_So, how long do you expect us to look after you?_

Heero found Duo in Mess, rummaging through the Victoria file in front of God and everyone, idly pushing the baby carrots out of his mixed vegetable. Heero let him alone at first, went to purchase his own tray, sat down across from him. He used his fork to scrape Duo's unwanted carrots onto his plate, and Duo absently grabbed his dinner roll and took a bite.

"Could've mentioned that," Duo murmured. "Said somewhat about why you really joined. Wouldn't've hurt."

"I did," Heero replied gruffly, "before Preventers ever showed up on our doorstep."

_Well, I'm not sticking around. Let's blow this place right now._

"You mean before Chang gave you an out," Duo said in that correctional tone Heero despised. He moved a stapled pile of papers from one side of the folder to the next. "And don't get your panties in a bunch. Here's a blind spot in Mess' camera angles. Found it this morning."

"How clever of you," Heero responded, forking a bit of pulled pork and then staring at it.

"Thanks," Duo replied sarcastically. "Three, two...and one." Duo lifted a hand, keeping his gazed focused on his file, and pointed towards the front entrance of Mess.

Heero turned in his seat, found immediately the figure of Wufei, his proud gaze skimming the crowd presumably for them.

"I could hold him for you," Duo said casually. "Left side of his face could use a refresher course."

"I misunderstood him," Heero said stiffly.

"Please. He boned you, and he knows it because he's here to make nice. Since when did he get back anyway?" Duo finished the dinner roll, packed it into his cheek. "Or you could deck him on the right side. There's a joke in there somewhere."

_...how long do you expect..._

Heero turned away from Duo's thoughtful expression to watch Wufei approach them, his face guarded, his body stiff and wary. "I could have elaborated," Heero admitted. "Been honest about what they promised me."

"Damn right you could've," Duo replied, a nasty edge to his voice. "Since I'm so much better at spotting the bullshit than you are." Cruel, that, reminding him of the unfair burden he put on Duo their first day here. "But you didn't want to hear anything I had to say. You wanted to get boned because you didn't know what to do with me. Fucking coward."

_So, how long do you expect us to look after you?_

"Not here," Heero growled. Wufei was closer now.

"Why not," Duo said, flipping the file shut and standing. "Give these tweets something to sing about later."

"Hi, Blackbird," a passing Preventer greeted.

"Hey, what's up," Duo said, nodding once before returning his attention to Heero. "Nothing like putting on a good show. That's why they wanted me here, right? Come on, Reclama, left cheek, or right?"

_Let's blow this place right now._

Wufei was there, then, his black eyes shifting between a standing Duo that screamed aggressive defense, and a still seated Heero that seemed barely more than a shadow compared. Heero sighed, shoved his tray back, and got to his feet. He faced Wufei even though his black eyes were back on Duo. A stand off then, a stand off that Duo relinquished with a roll of his eyes and a lift of his hands in mock surrender. He danced out from between them, tucking the file under his arm. And was gone, as quick and smooth a disappearing act the devil himself couldn't counter.

To his credit, Wufei didn't flinch under Heero's murderous gaze. "Do you drink, Apollo?" he asked evenly.

"You told Une I could control him," Heero accused in a voice so low even he could barely hear it. "How dare you. What game are you playing, Chang."

"Do you drink," Wufei repeated, an echo of his awareness of the masses beginning to notice the unrest between the Assistant Deputy Director of CSAD and their new pair of mysterious PFO's. Heero finally registered the gooseflesh of a hundred eyes on him, the sudden quiet. If Duo wanted a show, he got one. Shame he wasn't present to see it. Though, Heero wouldn't put him past viewing the footage later on the security cameras and laughing his ass off.

_Don't just stand there..._

"I burn it off too quickly," Heero answered.

"I know," Wufei said, and he probably did. "Come with me." And then in an even quieter voice: "Don't let them see you sweat."

Wufei checked out a Preventer vehicle, another unremarkable black four-door, and drove them into a beach city an hour and half away. Silently. Heero had an odd moment, as they pulled into the parking lot of some seedy, beat down bar. He wished, for the first time in a long time, that he was in the cockpit of ZERO. It might be rather fulfilling, cathartic even, to beat the shit out of Wufei's Shenlong. First time in a long time he thought back and considered them the good days.

Wufei ordered two of his 'usual' and had the barkeep charge it on his company card. Wufei took the two chilled bottles of clear liquid—without absolutely any markings—and a pair of snifters, and led Heero into a shadowy back corner booth. Without pretense, Wufei poured them both a double shot and downed his, an immediate refill sloshing even before he finished swallowing. Heero lifted his snifter and peered suspiciously at it.

"What is this?"

Wufei didn't answer. He drank another double and refilled it.

It tasted as awful as it smelled, burnt and stinging the entire way down until it smoldered in the pit of Heero's belly. No frills, this liquor, or moonshine, or whatever the hell. Heero nodded when Wufei poised the bottle over his empty glass. Three down and a fourth filled, Wufei finally let the bottle rest next to the unopened one on the table. A jaded waitress brought by a platter of nuts and a plate of fries. Heero felt the room swerve, and reached for the greasy pile first. Wufei picked idly at the peanuts.

"You remember what you said to me," Wufei murmured, almost an hour later. He'd let his hair down, a fall of inky black, straight-edged across his now-open collar. Heero didn't get this Wufei at all. "About that girl and her dog."

Ash and rubble, all that was left of condominiums whose only transgression was being built too close to the OZ base. A dirty, singed teddy-bear left against a slab of destroyed granite. "I remember," Heero said.

They were on bottle two now, but slowing down. The stiffness was gone from Wufei's shoulders, slouching now against the back of the booth, his black eyes fixed on the mess of peanut shells he was making on the table. "My clan..." Wufei started, and then broke off. His hands stilled over the pile shells, clenched and then released. "I see them," he tried again. "In my sleep. They don't have faces anymore."

He fell silent again, poured them both another double. Heero drained his, but watched as Wufei tortured himself by sipping it.

Then: "You know what it's like, then, anyway. Seeing the train wreck coming, the catastrophes happen. What would you do if you could push some of them out of the way? What would you have done, Heero, if you could have evacuated that building?" Wufei looked up at him, the darkness in his face sending a tingle down Heero's spine. "You would have tried to, wouldn't you? You would have tried to save that girl and her dog."

Heero just stared at him, seeing the little stuffed bear covered in ash, the little red bow blackened by fire. He'd given Relena one just like it once. Without the ash, without the blackened bow.

"Victoria isn't the only thing happening here," Wufei whispered. "I'm trying...to push as many of you out of the way as I can." He hesitated again. "I'm tactless, yes. Sally thinks so. But you know I'm honor-bound. I'm okay about being the villain here, Heero, if it means I won't fail. I'm determined not to fail at this."

Heero shook his head, refilled his own snifter this time. "Colony L4-XX137," Heero murmured.

_You're totally confident he's gonna succeed, aren't ya?_

Wufei nodded, swallowed the rest of his vice.

"Why does this have you spooked, Wufei," Heero demanded quietly. "Who is your Neutralizer?"

Wufei looked back at him, a haziness to his gaze that hinted the alcohol was allowing him to consider telling him. He chewed absent-mindedly on his thumbnail, reminding Heero startlingly of Duo. "You know what it would mean, Yuy. Just as ESUN failing to secede Victoria could cause another skirmish, maybe even another war—but at the very least the failing of the world's trust in us to do the right thing, to put our money where our mouth is—the accusation on 04 could allow our enemies to accuse us of using blood money to finance ESUN, Preventers. We're too young to take that kind of heat. Everything would...fail. Everything."

"Let us on this," Heero said. "Between you, me and Duo, we would find a solution, rectify the situation."

Wufei shook his head minutely, the walls abruptly coming up, the haziness disappearing from his eyes. "We're handling it."

"Wufei."

"No." Wufei drank another double, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after. "No."

"You're obviously not handling it well enough, if it's keeping you up at night. If it's making you drink like this."

Wufei laughed bitterly. Maybe it wasn't just the situation with Quatre that was making him drink, making him lose himself in this poison.

"Why did you bring me here, Wufei?"

"I don't know," Wufei said, and it was so painfully honest, so defeated, that Heero had a hard time not believing him. Wufei rubbed harshly at his face, groaned a little and sat up in his seat. When he looked at Heero again, it was bright-eyed and earnestly. "Give me long enough to diffuse this, and I don't care where you go, I don't care where Duo goes. In fact, I'll make it my personal mission to make sure you're both left alone. Just give me time."

"I can't speak for Duo."

_You're totally confident..._

"You don't have to," Wufei replied, some dark amusement creeping into his voice. "He won't go anywhere until he's figured out a decent way to wreak vengeance, to take his pride back."

"Not about pride, with him," Heero murmured. "It's about freedom."

Wufei made a small movement with his head, indicating he saw little difference in the two.

"I can't keep hurting him," Heero whispered.

Wufei looked at him for a long time. "I have no advice for that, my friend. I've never been in love."

_Let's just hope we're not wasting our time. _

~*~

The house was dark when Wufei drove him home, a journey that took no less than four hours. Heero might've feared the worse, until he saw that Chris' purple truck was missing, that Ash was playing with the girls and Nefie in the next lawn over. Wufei drove away without comment, knowing that if Duo saw him in the vicinity of their house, he might have a conniption. Chris came to greet him on the sidewalk.

"He went out," she said quietly, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets, flinching at the expression Heero bent on her.

Heero took Ash and led him towards the house, pausing only when Chris called out to him.

"He'll be back," Chris said.

His buzz had worn off long before he heard the truck pull up to the street, and he wished it hadn't. The nerves coiled in his belly felt like barbed wire, twisting and churning. Heero braced for whatever-version-of-Duo stumbled through the door, but no amount of bracing could ever fully prepare him. Duo came in the door noisily, indulgently greeted Ash who bounded down to meet him on the stair. Duo's expression was black, though, when he lifted it to Heero, who waited for him in the hall upstairs.

Duo's ascent felt like slow-motion, each step equal parts hesitant and determined, a study in contrasts. Only half a moment, Duo faced him, reeking of whisky and someone else's cologne and a billion other things that tore Heero's chest open. Heero didn't know who reached for whom first, but their embrace was violent, ripping, slashing—Heero accidently broke the zipper of Duo's leather jacket. Duo cursed at him foully and shoved him into the wall. So much like the first time, except plaster tumbled onto them in bits and powder as they made their way viciously down the hall. Duo bit down on his lower lip and the tang of blood filled Heero's mouth. He dug both hands into Duo's braid, at the nape of his neck, and yanked, shoving his tongue into his mouth, making him share it. Cold hands snaked up his shirt, scratched down his back, loosened the fly of his pants.

Heero felt him withdraw before Duo even moved, rejected, shoved him back and struck him in the face. Pressure exploded against his cheekbone, his eye socket, the alcohol still in him making him stagger back.

"No, goddamn it," Duo spat in a voice so trembling, so uneven and hateful and hurt and betrayed it made a chasm open up in the center of Heero like the implosion of the sun. "No, I'm done. Fucking don't touch me."

"Duo."

"Don't 'Duo' me either," he said, opening his bedroom door, letting Ash inside. "We can save the world and protect your princess in the morning. I'll be the one making coffee." And closed the door behind him.

Heero took a halting step forward, drawn in by the absence of him, pressed his forehead against the door barring his way.

You two gravitate to each other, Wufei had said. Never seen anything like it. You move together. Literally move together. Adjust to accommodate the other. Never seen anything like it.

Heero slept in the den.

**To be continued...**


	10. The Sum of Its Parts

Title: Prerequisite

Summary: It shook Duo to think suddenly he was not the first to feel this rage: Salvation shall come from the hills, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wrote. From the blood that flows in me, I say from the same tree, a son shall rise. And his duty shall be to lead and save the people.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.

Pairing: 1x2, more may follow

Spoiler Warning: Scattered Duo-isms from the series.

Alternate Warnings: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

Author's Note: Firstly, I'd like to thank Link for all her help beta-ing this chapter. She's been inspirational and whip smart since helping me take on this story. And a continuous thanks goes to everyone who takes the time out of their day to read this story, and doubly so for those that leave feedback.

This chapter presented several challenges. It was emotionally exhausting, for one. Some of the books and articles I read to help me research the content introduced in this chapter did everything from throwing me into fits of rage, cause me to weep for hours, or to simply sit in mortification. At the close of the chapter, I will post a few of these works in the event you are interested in reading them too.

It was also technically difficult. I struggled with the pre-brief and ended up writing a scene and a closing scene wholly different from what I had outlined. I like the edit, however, a lot better than I did the original draft. I hope it was written in a way that you enjoy it too. Thank you again for reading.

Yours,

Gloria

P.S. My computer crashed at the beginning of November. Which sucked. I just got it back—I apologize for the hiatus, and hope the update is worth the wait.

Prerequisite

Chapter Nine

The Sum of Its Parts

AC 203

Duo's mind felt like ash. Cold, so wear a jacket. Release the salute on base. Fasten the harness, jump from the gunner. Sign in, put on the uniform, make coffee. His duffel was lighter this morning than it had been all weekend. Eckhart had received his books back with a silent solemnity Duo appreciated. Heero had watched the exchange quietly, unobtrusively, but inquired nothing. Duo appreciated that too.

Like ash. Dry and fallible, at the barest touch a give that would crumple everything inward. Duo remembered that ash could look like snow, could look like winter, could look like Christmas on the colonies. Fitting after the fires that raged in his brain, when he began to comprehend more than he ever wanted to know. He never wanted to know. He never wanted to care. He'd turned his back on this, hadn't he? Turned his back on it when Deathscythe exploded at the hands of Trowa Barton and the crowds cheered. Continued fighting, yes, because never let it be said that Duo Maxwell left a thing undone, left a thing unfinished. It was finished. He didn't have to care anymore. Didn't mean that he wouldn't.

The Victoria file was nothing but paper.

There was a blinking beside his monitor. Duo followed his gut and closed his office door behind him, flattened the blinds so that it was dark. Nothing but the black brightness of the monitor for the computer that'd been hacked--and Duo could count on one hand the number of people that could hack him. Duo set down his too-light duffel, loosened his absurd yellow tie he wore as a 'fuck you' to the prat that told him it might seem more professional should he agree to wear one to the briefing this morning. Used the tip of his pinkie finger to nudge the mouse, stirred the static.

Must be late on L4. Trowa slept in Quatre's chair, waiting for him obviously. Duo felt a jolt of awareness, an undercurrent of affection for Trowa Barton. Impossible not to, seeing him asleep, unaware, unguarded. Maybe not too hard to think why Quatre kept him around even if they hated each other now. Hell, maybe they could have a thing or two to chat about over beer nuts one day. They seemed to have enough in common, now.

We've found, Quatre had said, that the sex is remarkably better when we can't stand the sight of one another.

Duo turned on his audio, murmured a good morning, watched Trowa spasm into alertness and fought a sigh. Trowa looked at him--looked at him longer than maybe appropriate- -his mouth that thin line in his face, his eyes greener than anything merely human, just looked at him. Finally, a nod and: "I'll get Quatre."

He was gone, replaced just a half a minute later by a sleepy-eyed, rumpled Quatre Winner. That made Duo smile, a little, because he remembered, too, the bunkers under the sand, the cheerful, friendly faces of the cave-dwellers, the bright sashes and the doting dancing girls, the little slice of safety during the chaos of war. And he remembered the bed-messy blue eyed, blond boy that could befriend anybody, that could take a piss and sell it as currency. The one who'd look twice at Duo, bent that friendly smile on him. Shared the warmth of a blanket, a friendship, a family with Duo. Quatre wasn't awake enough yet to smile at him now.

"Hard to find you, ass," Quatre grumbled, accepting a teapot and china from someone with wrists too slender to be Trowa's. "Had to pull some strings."

Duo snorted. That meant nothing more than berating Wufei into giving him Duo's hardline. "How's the weather up there, Sunshine?"

"Blow me," Quatre retorted. "You could've called or something. Hilde won't stop hassling me for news."

"You don't need to actually talk to me to get a rundown."

"Ok, so maybe I just wanted to hear your melodic voice. I've missed you, and rumor has it you could use a friend." Quatre drained his first cup of tea, wincing as it burned his mouth, and poured another.

Duo frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. He didn't like the sound of gossip circulating their sudden band of brothers routine. They weren't a goddamn boy band separated on tour. "Wufei can choke on it. I'm fine."

"Don't insult me because you're still sore with Wufei," Quatre said, not bothering to even look at Duo. Quatre was bent over something on his desk, pushing papers around so that he could settle the tea tray less precariously. "How's Heero?"

"If you want to know about Heero, you can hack into his computer." Duo sunk his fingers into his hair, massaged his scalp.

"That bad, huh?" Quatre was looking at him now.

"We got a dog," Duo mumbled, sipping his coffee. "Pit, ex-fighter. Not ironic, so don't even go there. Name's Ash." Ash. The Devil's Christmas in space.

Quatre was still looking at him. Not really with the energy or intensity with which Trowa looked at him. Not with the sense that he was about to say something that would rock Duo's world all the way to the beams and rafters. Just looking, waiting. "That's nice," Quatre said. "Nice to have a buddy." Sad when a dog takes my place, that translated.

"I never thought to ask," Duo said, and even to him it felt like a violent slash across the atmosphere. "I never thought to ask why you two broke up. Never wanted to know what could tear you apart. I'm sorry. I should've asked. I'm a shitty friend."

"You did ask," Quatre murmured. "In Madrid."

"Not like I would've if I wanted an answer." Duo looked up at the screen, into the void between them that reflected Quatre's bottomless eyes back at him. "You think you'll survive it, whatever it is. You think you'll make it? The two of you?"

Quatre smiled a little self-deprecating smile, his eyes going all distant and inward, considering something Duo couldn't fathom. "Of course," he said. "Because if I don't, we definitely won't. Don't think I'm ready for that. Don't think you're ready for that, either." Quatre paused, snuggled deeper into the blanket around his shoulders. "Because whatever you think of us now, us five, we're still...exceptional . And no one really gets to choose their family, Duo. It comes in its little, broken imperfect box with its little tattered bow and you can either deal, or you can turn it away, or you can find the beauty in it and be grateful."

Duo put his coffee mug on his desk, sat back in his chair, in the dark, with the ash still crumbling in his brain, and stared at the vidphone. "You really believe that, do you?"

"Only sometimes." Quatre smiled again, and that smile made Duo think of bunkers under the sand and bright sashes and doting dancing girls. "Sometimes it's enough. Sometimes it isn't."

The Victoria file was nothing but paper. It discussed coordinates and political agendas and just about a decade's worth of history, but the damn file could make better fire kindling. It told Duo nothing of Kenya that he wouldn't have already guessed. Blah blah, Kenya perimeters Victoria on the eastern side, blah blah, and Victoria is a necessary base command for ESUN in that part of Africa, blah blah, and Uganda and Tanzania might have stayed quiet too if Kumbaki had never made a fuss, blah blah, and now ESUN has to figure out a way to fuck Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania in a way that makes them believe they're actually getting the better end of the deal, blah blah snore. Good fucking luck.

Duo knew it was a bad idea, but Duo wouldn't have ever crawled into a Gundam if he hadn't meant it. He wouldn't have ever taken anyone's orders and submitted himself to torture and fought for a cause nobody but half a dozen people agreed with if he hadn't believed in every switch flipped, every jerk on the stick, every destructive slash of beam scythe. If he hadn't trusted in his gut that what he was doing was for the better, even if they didn't win. Even if they didn't win. Duo knew it was a bad idea, but he had to give a good goddamn. He had to know.

It was in his blood to know where he stood before he threw a punch, before he pulled the trigger, before he protected or destroyed anyone. He had to know. And, in a sense, fighting for L2 was easy, even when they cheered while Deathscythe burned. It was easy because he understood L2. He understood how the cluster breathed, how grease and oil and sweat was more precious than blood. When even though it was rare anybody stood up for the little guy anymore, there was still an 'us' and a 'them' because 'us' were here first, and fuck you, you can't eat my food and sleep in my bed and get to point that gun in my face while you're doing it. He understood them and their hate and bitterness like he understood why bees stung when threatened.

Duo didn't know anything about Africa. He didn't know anything about Kenya. He didn't know what they bled, or how they breathed, or who would keep whom in their ideal world if they were allowed to dream up their own special utopia.

'Course, just not knowing wasn't ever enough for Duo Maxwell.

Quatre peered at him over the rim of his teacup. "What's bothering you, Duo?"

"You think its Heero," Duo said. "It isn't Heero." Duo paused, and then amended that. "Not really."

Because, of course, that first night he'd gone into Baltimore and found a bar with a pretty selection of no faces he was too busy laughing that he was back to fucking in random bathrooms with random strangers to actually do anything. It was profoundly irritating. Duo wished he could say it was because he saw Heero's imaginary wounded expression in his mind, except that seeing Heero's imaginary wounded expression in his mind never deterred him before. Maybe it had more to do with knowing there was a point of no return and that Duo wasn't ready to go there yet. Maybe it was because some stupid adolescent notion, some childish compulsion to hope for the best in a relationship that was deteriorating so fast it was making his head spin that prevented him from infidelity. Which was absolutely, one hundred percent, fucking ridiculous. Heero didn't goddamn own him.

Duo spent a great deal of his evenings, now, in bars with a pretty straight selection of no faces. Couldn't possibly get himself into trouble that way.

"Mission?" Quatre inquired, in that subtle way of his that drove straight to the heart of a matter without being too cocky about it.

Duo chewed at a thumbnail. "What do you know about Africa?"

Quatre sat back in his chair, his eyes going a little wide with comprehension, and then a little tight in the corners as he calculated a response. "Well," he said. "There isn't a whole lot I can tell you that you probably haven't already figured out for yourself."

Because, of course, just not knowing wasn't ever enough, Duo had hacked into HQ mainframe, rootkitting anything and everything on file, ever on file, about the countries surrounding Victoria. Once upon a time, nearly three hundred years ago, Kenya was colonized by Great Britain. There was an uprising, a fight and victory for independence, the crumbling of an infant government too corrupt and riddled with politicians who fought for coffers to stand on their own without intercession. Alliance took them in as a vassal nation. OZ made them resentful. And now they want the endless waltz. Now they want independence again.

And there was more. There was so much more. Rumors of troops moving across the countryside, just on the edges of Preventer vision, slipping in and out of Congo, in and out of Uganda, disappearing for months in Tanzania and then, in a bewildering act of voodoo, appearing again in northern Kenya. Circling Victoria. Rumors of troops made up of natives, made up of people that made Duo's blood run cold because it was one of the oldest stories in the history of mankind--one of the oldest cruelties--and Duo Maxwell himself was no stranger to it.

Preventers didn't have knowledge of these troops because they ever saw them, or because anyone living in the villages had been willing to report them. Preventers knew about the troops, the new rebel armies, because these phantom fighters raided the villages—brutalizing families and abducting recruits. Recruits between the ages of ten and fifteen, several as young as five years old.

Common, terribly common before Alliance. OZ had spawned a new core of them, enlisting at fifteen. OZ seemed more brutal, too, than anything the rebels could think up. Preventers thought that the recruits came willingly at first, and Duo was inclined to agree. No one forced him into a mobile suit. A force, then, for OZ to contend with—ignored abruptly when Shenlong exploded onto their bases, rattling Victoria to its deepest recesses. Suddenly, then, no more Alliance, no more OZ—which wouldn't have hesitated to shoot a child in the face to advance the battlefield—and replaced by ESUN, which would definitely, absolutely hesitate...because ESUN desperately depended on public relations. Recruiting was forced now, because there were Ugandans and Kenyans and Tanzanians who wanted to take everything back, by force if necessary, because it was with force that it was taken from them. Even if Alliance had provided them

a sense of autonomy, OZ had raped it from them when they placed sanctions, built factories on their farmland, refused relief aid to the starving and the sick. No votes, no money, no food. Couldn't even fight for the country that was theirs by right.

The Victoria file was nothing but paper. There was so much more happening.

"I can say, and of course this is just my opinion," Quatre said. "If I am reading Kumbaki correctly, he's serving as a catalyst for the...absolute mayhem that is going to happen there anyway because he wants to begin with diplomacy so he can end it with diplomacy. He wants Preventer aid."

"Relena probably thinks so too," Duo murmured, thoughtfully tracing his index finger around the rim of his mug. "Her presence in this speaks volumes."

"It does," Quatre agreed.

Knowing the history wasn't enough for him either. It still didn't tell him what they bled, or how they breathed. All it told him was what had happened before, and what was likely to happen again. Saturday morning had found Duo arguing heatedly with the MP at the barricade of Fort Meade's South Gate.

Don't make me pull rank on you, Duo had said to the man. I've not had to yet, and I'd really rather not now. Just get Eckhart.

The good General had picked him up in his shiny, cherry red vintage truck thing and had handed Duo a coffee without prompt or propaganda before driving him to the bowling alley parking lot. It took barely anything, just an honest conversation, a direct request, and not a single trace of bafflement. One book Eckhart took from his personal library. The rest they found at Archives. Novels, mostly. Memoirs from before Alliance, stories and tales of an Africa as rife with turmoil as it'd been since the dawn of time, but gut-wrenching too. Because it threw Duo to find that cruelty and barbarism was a language spoken by all people in all places, and that home and hearth and heart was something cherished, yes, but there was a zeal here that took Duo by storm. A zeal that demanded respect, a ferocious pride by a people that knew in their fingernails, in their minds, in their souls, that they were the oldest people on the

planet, from the oldest civilizations, from the oldest origins—and if they could be uprooted and displaced, anyone could. It shook Duo to think suddenly he was not the first to feel this rage.

Salvation shall come from the hills, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wrote. From the blood that flows in me, I say from the same tree, a son shall rise. And his duty shall be to lead and save the people.

Other scripts told countless stories of child armies, specifically formed because they were more easily replaced, certainly more disposable, than the grown men of an organization or the officials that sat behind their desks and ordered people to their deaths. Capable of desensitizing and drugging children, of forcing them to perform hostilities, unutterably horrible acts of violence—often against their own people. Some were rehabilitated, most were not. On Sunday, Duo read in the kitchen while Heero sat by the bay window and watched the rain:

I was sad to leave, but I was also pleased to have met people outside of Sierra Leone. Because if I was to get killed upon my return, I knew that a memory of my existence was alive somewhere in the world.

Duo had stared at him after and wondered if that was really why Heero was here.

"Are there rehabilitation centers available?" Duo asked very quietly. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"For children of war?" Quatre inquired, and Duo had to wonder how he was able to follow the sporadic line of someone's thoughts even on the other side of the moon. "Yes. I didn't know you were planning an extraction."

"I'm not," Duo said. "Just wanted to know."

Quatre looked suddenly alarmed. "You think that will become an issue at the negations?"

Duo just looked at him, and Quatre saw in his face everything he needed to know. There was a knock on his office door, Heero murmuring that they were ready for a pre-brief. "I have to go, Quat."

"Of course," Quatre said, even as he looked drawn and abruptly aggrieved. He looked older than he should, like that. "Duo?"

"Hm?" Duo stood, shouldered his duffel.

"You know that they expect everything from you but for you to do well, don't you?"

Bright sashes and doting dancing girls. Duo felt a genuine smile creep along his face. "I do."

"Give 'em hell," Quatre said, a bemused half-smirk hovering, an attempt at cheer that seemed to physically wear on him. Solo had said, give 'em hell.

"'Course I will," Duo replied. "It's me."

Quatre cut the feed, and Duo was left in the total blackness of his office.

~*~

Duo was aware of Heero as they marched through HQ to the command base for SPG. Aware of him in a molecular way. He could hear him breathing, anticipate the sway of his messy hair as it draped menacingly over his face, feel the heat of his body. This hyper-awareness wasn't really new to Duo; in fact, it was what had always made Heero so damn sexy to him. But Duo concentrated on it like he hadn't in a while. Concentrated on him, wrapped his thoughts around him like seaweed around an anchor, tried to inhale only when Heero did, matched him step for step.

No one greeted them at the door, but Heero didn't hesitate. It was uncomfortable how effortlessly this came to him. Duo watched Heero transform into the iconic Preventer just like he'd morphed into a super soldier child pilot when they were young. Duo didn't want to think if Heero ever had a choice like he once did, back in the day. Duo wanted fiercely to believe that Heero wasn't a victim like the children being abducted from their homes in Uganda, forced into a conflict they didn't understand.

Duo wasn't very good at lying, not even to himself.

They met in a conference not very dissimilar to other conference rooms designed to accommodate military strategy. There were several men and women seated around a long oak table, including Wufei and Sally, who were the only two Duo already knew, all staring at them expectantly as they entered the room. Duo felt hot under the collar, but forced himself to listen for Heero's breathing. At the far end of the room were several massive screens, blank for now, but Duo assumed they would be showing maps and building structures very shortly. In the center of the large oak table were numerous mechanisms Duo recognized with the ability to project three-dimensional assimilations.

"Welcome," the Deputy Director for Plans said, a sturdy man whose stitch labeled him as Geoffrey. "Ladies and gentlemen, our resident PFO's Apollo and Blackbird."

"Better late than never," a man with cropped black hair and bright green eyes muttered flippantly.

Duo zeroed in on him, distracted only by Heero's light touch on his elbow.

"Thank you, Major," Geoffrey said, a subtle note of long-suffering in his voice. Duo stared hard at the man called 'Major', unsettled because the man wore a Preventer's jacket and not a military uniform. "Gentlemen, please have a seat. We're joined by representatives from Transnational and Space Reconnaissance and the Office of Transnational and Space Issues."

Duo saw the tilt of their heads as their division was announced, and could fairly assume who belonged to what. Heero made no move to sit, so neither did he. Duo's eyes swept the room again, settling on Sally, who waved cheerfully, and Wufei, who watched them with a muted, guarded expression. Duo wondered, idly, why the International and Colonial Counterterrorism Center couldn't make it. He nodded at Geoffrey to continue.

For half an hour, Geoffrey lit up the center of the table, using his laptop to guide them through the operation. He talked a lot about the island the ESUN envoy would land on before being transported to Nairobi where Kumbaki and his men would greet them. They were to meet inside the city hall, controlled, technically, by ESUN, but that was semantics. Whether they had felt threatened or wanted to project a sense of goodwill to the native Kenyans, only a few representatives and only several dozen Preventers remained to staff the building. Duo had been unaware of the understaffing, and wondered if ESUN's dwindling presence in Nairobi had been required for Kumbaki to be willing to meet with Relena Peacecraft. It hadn't been in the file, either, and Duo had never thought to check.

Oddly, Geoffrey made no mention of the Independence Retaliation Army, otherwise known as, creatively, the IRA. He did, however, give a thorough review of who would be positioned where, the timetable of the entire operation down to the second, and so forth.

"Excuse me," Duo said. Though he'd interrupted the Deputy Director mid-sentence, he was actually making an attempt to be polite. Wufei looked warily at him; most seemed simply shocked he had spoken aloud.

Geoffrey looked swiftly at Wufei and then back again, which briefly irritated Duo, but he should have expected that. Quatre was probably right. Quatre was usually right. "Blackbird," he said, giving the floor to Duo.

Beside him, Heero breathed in and out, in and out. "I understand that this mission is formatted like a simple envoy guard—I get it, I really do. But I'd rather talk about why you seem to think doing this in Nairobi is a good idea when we're outmanned in a hostile environment." Duo licked his lips.

Several men and women sat up straight, and one or two seemed insulted. The man, Major, gazed at him with shadowy eyes but it was Wufei and Sally that surprised him. They were peering at him with a heady mix of severe interest.

"Listen, son," one man said, who hailed from OTSI. "Kenya isn't considered hostile yet—"

"Yet is right, because of Kumbaki's diplomacy," Duo agreed. "But I think you ought to give the man a little more credit. He's trying to tell us something, and hell, your people should have reports on it already."

"Blackbird," a minor Paramilitary Operations Officer interjected. "You're out of line."

"Whose line?" Duo shot back, feeling warmed up. "Yours?"

"Wait, stop." That was Wufei, holding his hands up peaceably. "Blackbird, explain yourself."

Duo unzipped his duffle, retrieved a disc and tossed it to Geoffrey. As he loaded it onto his desktop, Duo continued, stepping closer to the table. "IRA was last seen in Sudan, and before that Uganda, terrorizing the countryside." Duo took in their blank faces and wanted to say something really foul to wake them up. "I can't believe you people don't know this. IRA could be in Turkana by now. Look," Duo pointed at the screen, now showing the information Geoffrey had downloaded for him.

"Circling Victoria," a woman said.

"They could just be going further north," some other idiot suggested.

"No, they're propagating," Major interrupted suddenly. "I've seen this before. They're creating unrest as they go. Stanvil's right; they're circling the lake. They're dropping down from the northwest because they know they can't get into Kenya through Victoria. Nairobi's weak, but the lake is still ours."

Wufei was listening to him carefully. "ICC should have a report on this."

Major looked at him and shrugged unapologetically. "Zimmerman had a group tracking IRA at the Ugandan/Sudan border. We lost touch with him about a week ago."

"Zimmerman's team is dead," Duo said, and then amended: "Probably."

Major turned his lancing green eyes on him. "Thank you for your assessment, PFO. You have any other pearls of wisdom?"

"Yeah," Duo replied. "Like we ought have the negotiations on that island instead of Nairobi."

Several people began shaking their heads, muttering things about funding and we're not politicians and Kumbaki would never stand for it—but what really got under Duo's skin was: "Ms. Peacecraft gave her word. She's not going to renege."

"And this is the girl that couldn't remember the stove was hot when she'd just burned herself touching it; people, come on." Duo circled around the table to stand behind Wufei, reaching forward to grasp the remote and flip the monitor. "And it's going to cost a helluva lot more in machinery and personnel to facilitate the city with an invasion coming. We move the location or the whole thing's off."

"You're not qualified to make that sort of decision, Blackbird," someone said, but Duo didn't look to see whom. He continued flipping the images, searching for one in particular.

"And you're panicking on a hunch," another said.

"We have enough officers to extract the ESUN envoy should the situation become hostile," a woman in the back murmured. "That's why we're going with them to begin with."

Duo chuckled darkly. "What are we gonna do, leave Kumbaki and his men to slaughter when things go bad?"

"That depends entirely on how the negotiations are going," Major answered breezily. When Duo sent him a dark look, the man smiled. "We can thin out our forces at the perimeter of the city," Major added. "We'll at least have enough warning to handle the situation, should it become necessary."

"Why can't we move the location?" Duo said through his teeth, forgetting the remote and lowering it momentarily. "We're talking about an entire city of people, here."

Major gazed back at him, unfazed by Duo's mounting temper. Duo turned on Wufei, looked between him and Sally. "Why can't we move?" he repeated.

It was Sally who answered him, looking suddenly drawn and overtired. "Kumbaki insists on allowing his people to witness the occasion. He wants them to trust him."

"He'll get them all killed," Duo said.

"Maybe," Sally answered, as gently as she could. "But then again, nothing could happen and everyone goes home happy. You have to remember that Relena's safety is our priority."

Duo stared at her. "I'm not overreacting," he whispered to her.

"I don't think you are," she whispered back, and smiled.

"The point is Kumbaki is also anticipating it too," Heero said abruptly, in that quiet monotone of his. "Nairobi in general has a low population lately; perhaps that was intentional. I think Kumbaki is going to ask for asylum until the IRA is diminished."

Duo looked over at him. Quatre had made a startlingly similar assertion. "You think he's staging it?"

Heero shook his head. "Kumbaki is anticipating it. Probably believes IRA will kill him if Preventers do not intercede, and then Kenya will have no diplomacy at all."

Wufei fell back in his seat with a dull thud, the shock of comprehension causing him to stare off into space. Sally was beginning to look grey, and Duo had to empathize with her. It couldn't be easy being a doctor, knowing a terrible thing was about to happen and not being able to do anything about it. Everyone else simply sat there dumbfounded.

"If the IRA is planning an attack on the city, we can stave them off," Geoffrey murmured to no one in particular. "We could hold the city."

Funding was mentioned again, and so was low manpower.

Duo finally found the picture he was looking for: an old photo of a twelve-year old African boy holding a rifle and staring woodenly at the camera. "I can almost guarantee you the bulk of their army is going to be made up of these little fellas, Geoff," Duo said softly. "You really think your men are up for that? Killing children?"

Duo looked away at his shoe, at Wufei, at anything, anyone, but Heero. Geoffrey was ghostly quiet. Everyone was ghostly quiet. Major was looking thoughtfully at Duo. Duo lifted his eyes to him, and then swiftly away. "We move the location, ladies and gentlemen, or we evacuate the city. I refuse anything less."

"Kumbaki will insist on Nairobi."

"Kumbaki insists on Nairobi because he wants to leave when Preventers leave. Probably doesn't have anything to do with citizens trusting him." Man in the back who hadn't spoken before, with a bitter expression and an Armani suit. Duo barely spared him a glance before Wufei spoke up, his eyes dark and calculating and edged like a knife.

"Actually," Wufei said, "it's probably both. A man who stands and fights for his city, even if he loses, will win the affection of his people."

~*~

Duo spent the afternoon beating the hell out of a sandbag until his knuckles were bleeding through the fabric he'd haphazardly wrapped his hands in before he'd started. The bag was leaking piles of sand on the floor before he realized he was being watched.

There were phone calls to make, for the people whose job it was to make phone calls. Letters to write, faxes to send through, paperwork to sign. Heero and Duo had been dismissed—or at least realized they'd been dismissed when the people in the room began throwing names and codes around that bewildered both of them, and heatedly arguing politics they didn't give a good goddamn about until they abruptly realized no one was paying attention to them anymore. It would take hours for the information to be passed along, then for a decision made by diplomats and a re-briefing organized. Heero had left the conference room first, Duo had followed minutes later, noticing Major was watching the meeting in front of him with clinical interest. Heero had vanished from the hall, off to do whatever Heero-the-Preventer thought necessary to do to prepare for his new mission of protecting Relena Peacecraft. Duo made a beeline for the

gym and hoped to God they'd at least evacuate the city.

Duo turned around, fully expecting Heero standing there like a statue gazing at him with that dead expression he favored lately, or maybe even Wufei, come to try and amend and make peace and say whatever Wufei-the-Preventer thought necessary to convince himself Duo's head was still in the game. The fact that it was neither--the fact that it was Major--baffled the hell out of him.

The man lounged on the bench next to Duo's hand towel and water bottle, not even looking at him as he scratched around a nasty, enflamed looking cut on the back of his hand. "That looks infected," Duo said, because it was the first thing after 'The fuck?' that popped into his mind.

"It's healing," Major said dismissively, but let it alone anyway, glanced up at him with his bright green eyes. Bright green and piercing, where Trowa's were subtle and watchful. Cat-like, nearly. "OZ trained me to be a soldier," he continued, as if answering an inquiry. "But I fought with White Fang."

The fuck? sprang back into Duo's thoughts. He wandered over to the opposite end of the bench, found new, clean wrappings and set to work peeling off the bloodied ones, his breath short and painful after the sudden lack of exertion.

"I remember when they asked you to lead us; I remember that you said no."

"Actually," Duo said, wincing a little as he poured water over his left knuckles to rinse the wounds before sipping from the same bottle. "I think I said something more along the lines of 'fuck no'."

Out of the corner of his eye, Duo saw Major smile. "I left before Merquise left. I joined Preventers before he did. Doesn't make any never mind to anyone but me, but there you have it."

Duo's mouth turned down; Major was actually beginning to irritate him now. "Why the hell are you talking to me about Zechs? I never knew him."

"I didn't know him really either," Major said, his tone turning weirdly thoughtful. "But it was interesting to me that he was an Earther, and that he fought on the side he did."

Here we go. It wasn't the first time a Preventer had approached him with the 'back in the day' angle. Kim had that right all to himself. Except—except mostly they all ran that angle from the rebels' side. Major was the first to be forthright about being on the side that lost, White Fang, OZ, Barton or otherwise. Duo sighed, then, used his teeth to knot the new wrappings to his left hand. He began the other. "So what colony do you hail from?"

"I don't," Major said. "I'm from Piedmont, North Dakota."

Duo paused, finally looked him full in the face. Major was looking back at him with a level gaze, his expression patient. The man was older than him, but not anywhere nearer to thirty than a couple of years. He had the posture of a man much older, though--the posture he recognized in Wufei, and even, admittedly, in himself. Of a veteran, despite his youth, of having witnessed things he'd like to forget, knowing probably he never would.

"You waited," Duo said slowly. "You helped them fire on the planet, and you're from Piedmont, North Dakota. The hell kind of childhood did you have?"

Major shrugged slowly. "The kind that made me recognize corruption and feel zealous enough to do something extreme about it." He paused. "I had been inspired by you—not you specifically, but you as in what you were, what you were fighting for. I thought I was helping. Left when I found I wasn't." Major fell quiet again, and then: "I threw up for an hour, after we fired on Earth. I was naive, because I did not think we'd actually go that far. Or that we would need to."

"You didn't," Duo said coldly. "Need to."

Major just looked back at him. He didn't seem particularly sorry, but Duo supposed the time had come and past for him to be sorry for what he'd done, that he'd already moved on to the part in his life where he tried to make up for it—but in a coolly, self-aware way that did not wallow in self-deprecation. Duo sort of, perhaps, maybe, respected him for that. "You never met him," Major said finally, after some time, "but you call him by his name."

"No, I don't," Duo said. "I call him by OZ's name for him. I know even less about Milliardo Peacecraft than I do about Zechs Merquise. All I know is that he was some crazed Earther, fucked a little too hard by Trieze Kushrenada and manned White Fang in some desperate attempt to rebel against him." It occurred to him briefly that he was tossing around sensitive material in the middle of the gym. At around the same millisecond he decided he didn't care.

"That's an astute observation," Major replied, "if not entirely correct. Do you ever wonder, though, if things might have been different if you'd agreed? If we hadn't been forced to look to Merquise?"

"Nope," Duo said, "because that's stupid, and useless. And fuck you, by the way; what a fucked up thing to throw in my face. You so incredibly certain I wouldn't have beamed the planet?"

"You went rogue on Operation Meteor."

"You're not even supposed to know about that," Duo said, his anger mounting suddenly. "Who the hell are you?"

"Preventer Major," he said, "and I've been doing this as long as Officer Chang. I know things because I pay attention to the fine print." Major stood, lazily offered Duo his towel, which Duo surprised himself in taking. "You started giving a shit long before anyone expected you to," Major continued in a quiet voice. "Thank you."

"For what," Duo demanded incredulously. "Giving a shit?"

Major didn't answer that. He put his hands in his pockets, bemusedly looked down at the streams of sand still trickling out of Duo's abused punching bag. "They're going to ask you to do something, and I want in on it. I want in on it because I want to make sure you don't accidentally kill POW's when you agree to do it--and I know you'll agree to do it."

"Do what?"

Major was already turned to walk away. Duo was completely and utterly thrown until Major paused to answer Duo's next question.

"What exactly do you do, Major?"

"I plan strike missions, strategy. I'll be the voice in your earpiece in Nairobi." Major turned around, then, looked back at Duo with the first honest expression he'd seen him wear. The man looked exhausted. "Even if they evacuate, it will only be advisory and there will still be families that refuse to leave, merchants, the poor. It's going to be a disaster, no matter what we do."

"Yeah." Duo held up his knuckles, sore and stinging from his hours-long boxing round. "I know." Duo knew the moment he'd made the demand, saw the pained look on Wufei's face, the sad smile from Sally, that the best they could hope for was fifteen percent, twenty if they got really lucky. Duo didn't think Preventers got that lucky on anything.

"I'll see you in the morning," Major called over his shoulder.

Duo watched him leave, but then didn't have the heart to continue hitting the bag, even after re-wrapping his hands. Duo never thought in a million years he'd befriend a jaded Earther White Fang veteran.

~*~

A/N:

'Salvation shall come from the hills. From the blood that flows in me, I say from the same tree, a son shall rise. And his duty shall be to lead and save the people.' ~The River Between by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. A novel. Weep Not, Child by the same author seems similarly interesting, but I have honestly not read it yet.

'I was sad to leave, but I was also pleased to have met people outside of Sierra Leone. Because if I was to get killed upon my return, I knew that a memory of my existence was alive somewhere in the world.' ~A Long Way Gone, Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah

And a particular article that moved me was a BBC journal about Ugandan John Ochola, and his story about life with the Lord's Resistance Army, and life after. Article can be found here: http :// news. com .uk/ 2/hi/africa/


	11. Reckless

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: His mouth was set in a serious frown, his face jaded and apathetic. Heero stared back. He stared, and saw himself. Tortured, Heero thought with a slash of agonizing pain that he had somehow become OZ.

**Story Summary** (I suck at these, but I had a request)**:** Nearly a decade after the war is finally, officially over, Preventers have become an organization to be reckoned with. Chang Wufei manages to enlist Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell using a silver-tongue and a little ruthless manipulation. A journalist is screaming for blood, demanding justice for war crimes. Africa is in a state of crisis as a Kenyan nationalist demands his country back. And every single surviving ex-Gundam pilot must now face once-slumbering demons.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.

**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow

**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered Duo-isms from the series. Specifically, for this chapter, the adored episode where Heero and Duo play basketball at the school, Zechs screws around with Tallgeese, and we realize Relena is officially stalking Heero. Irony; love it.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: Hi! OK, so I fail, right, because I haven't written anything new since October, but I hope the update is worth it. It took some juggling, some cutting, and lots of new music to produce this. I also had to re-write pretty much the entire damn thing because my computer ate it when it decided to do System Recovery for some eight hours straight and everything got lost to the ether on some effed-up game of chance that I very bitterly lost—ahem. Seether and Fort Minor have been very helpful. Weirdly, so has Avenged Sevenfold and New Divide by Linkin Park. Also, I listened to Our Solemn Hour by Within Temptation on repeat for God knows how long while actually hand-writing quite a bit of this. And you know what? Even though I highly disapprove of the video as it glamorizes everything I'm trying to point out as something _not_ to glamorize in this chapter and the few preceding it, Run This Town by Jay-Z and Rihanna. Though, I honestly think Kanye's verse is crap—and not because he's a jackass, but actually because the verse is crap. Am I the only one who has noticed it doesn't make one damn bit of sense for the song--_at all_? Also, I think I might just kill myself with energy drinks if I don't quit these things. I've had three Monsters a day for the past two weeks and I feel like I should be wiping powder off my nose.

Most importantly, I'd like to thank Link for her beta-ing. I love that she doesn't hold punches with me. She my very own personal Sally Po, I think. Thank you so much!

Oh, and I had written one guy in Relena's envoy as 'Michael Hale'—and I've been sitting here for hours, driving myself insane trying to remember whether or not I had already named the ESUN president that. See, my outline and all my notes for this story were eaten and sent to the ether along with everything else. I changed Michael's first name to Evan, just in case, though I frantically looked on ffdotnet to see if I had ever even written the President's name and found no such evidence—but just in case. Just in case. AND if it does so happen that I did already name the President Michael Hale, than I have absolutely no qualms about making Evan his son or whatever. Point of fact, if any of you could even remotely answer this question for me, I'd be so very much obliged. Literally wracking my brain here. I just think it's too trivial a thing to wait longer to post for, even if that does make me sound like a lazy authoress.

As a side note, I am doing the Polar Bear Plunge on Saturday. This is a fundraiser for Special Olympics; whereby good-folk sponsor jumpers to literally jump into the Chesapeake Bay in the middle of winter. I am a jumper.

I think, if the Monsters don't kill me by Saturday, I might just die of hypothermia. My boss has already informed me that he thinks one might be able to see my nipples from the moon after it is done. I told him that if I can't cut diamonds with them, I shall be getting back in. He sponsored fifty. The retarded kids love me.

I apologize for the liberal author's note that probably had minimal reference to the chapter, but please, do enjoy!

And thanks very much for reading,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Ten

**Reckless**

AC 203

You wouldn't be so suspicious if you tried to act natural instead of secretive.

It can be said that a soldier's life is not dissimilar to entropy. There is the beginning of it, where certain extraneous events can be assimilated together to hone a thing—or a person—into what it must become. Of course there is then the period where it shines, where it lives out its usefulness. Ultimately, there is that last, sad period of time when for one reason or another, the thing, or the person**--**the soldier--is cast aside for something different. Not always better or worse, this replacement, but different. The point is, once thrown away, during these final, dwindling moments of apathetic displacement—which could last minutes or an eternity—the thing, person, soldier, rots back into the nothingness from whence it came, despite the potential, despite the tireless hours of labor or the frantic collisions of chance that produced it, him, her, to begin with.

Heero Yuy was uncertain who coined the phrase_Perfect Soldier_ first. It might have been J, but OZ had had a way of nicknaming them when they were all supposed to be anonymous. A threat is more frightening when it is faceless, emotionless, and nameless. It still made him smile to remember how many times he heard "But he's just a kid!" during the war.

Heero never considered himself perfect. Certainly perfection was something he strove for--agonized over even—but Heero learned very early that he was extremely flawed. He thought perhaps he was the most ill-equipped Gundam pilot for the war of 195. Even Quatre had an army, financial backing, and the cleverest strategic mind of all five of them. Trowa could move in and out of the enemy like smoke, even if Heero was unsure whether that was a natural talent or not. Wufei had enough rage to make up for any lack of formal military training. And Duo—well, he may not have been the classiest of the lot, but he sure as hell was the best pilot, honest sneak thief or not.

Well**,** then, perfection since unattained, it might stand to reason that Heero Yuy's stubborn existence in this world could be the one exception against the rule. Heero did not feel as if he was decaying. He did not feel that he had been cast aside. He didn't even really feel displaced. Perhaps that was abnormal. But then, Heero usually comprehended normal on the second heartbeat, and not the first.

He felt alive. His chest hurt more these days than usual, but he woke up in the morning**,** he ate, occupied himself during the day, accepted challenges, relieved himself, socialized--or not--and slept again at the end of it. Not extraordinarily different from his days during the war.

However, there was certainly a definitive sense--and Heero didn't think this was the same thing as existing in a state of entropy**--**of having aged. Matured maybe, grown up. He was larger, yes, physically. He ached, especially when it rained, radiating out from wounds acquired during the war. But there was also…

Heero had overheard a conversation once. He thought he might have been somewhere in Italy—Venice, perhaps, because it was wet and muggy and Heero recalled being fascinated by the mold. He was forcing himself through a meal the waiter had insisted was a delicacy, but every time he chewed and swallowed**,** he was more convinced it wasn't because it was wretchedly horrible. One man, a massive round, fleshy man, said to a girl half his age,A weapon is not a weapon unless it is used. He said, A bomb isn't a bomb unless it explodes. The girl then, while Heero snorted into his unsavory meal, said, That's a load of bull. Did you take a nap during the war?

Even though it seemed absurd, and it probably warranted the response it received, it was something Heero thought about often later. Perfect Soldier, they called him, but Heero never remembered doing anything perfectly. Rashly, perhaps, often ruthlessly. He remembered a lot of pain and confusion. He remembered Relena and—

Last night triggered something from before. Not something he'd forgotten, but something he didn't wish to remember. He'd stayed overnight at Headquarters to go over data with Oliver Hapner, the succeeding Commander of DTRA after Lucrezia Noin. According to DTRA, which Hapner revealed with a ceaseless expression of severity, there were several unaccounted for mobile suits that had disappeared from Victoria after the war. It had been one of Noin's earliest projects, abandoned, of course, after her decision to go to Mars. Together, with several other stone-faced, serious researchers and analysts, they compiled a list of machinery they thought most likely to appear in Nairobi should this rebel army attack. It wasn't the thought of fighting mobile suits again that triggered buried thoughts and echoes of whispers, nor was it rebels with guns and political movements. It was the drink that had been offered him. A small vial, offered with a small smile, encouraged because it contained taurine and caffeine and vitamin B. Heero drained it, andeven though it barely fluttered his deeply regular heartbeat, did mostly nothing to accelerate him in any way, there was that inhale, that echo, that memory of a needle in his arm and the clicking of J's metal hand as he murmured, This will keep you focused, my boy, keep you focused on your mission.

Not to say that he didn't remember what all came after, but it was a blur. A determined, driven blur until the brakes went squealing in his mind, his will jarring against the confines of his body, frustrated as his brain told his fingers to do a thing and his fingers doing something else entirely. _What's wrong with me?_ he had screamed. _What's wrong with me?_ as she stared up at him while he missed crushing her, burying his shield into the ground next her instead. Big cornflower blue eyes moist and compassionate and bewildered as she watched him crack for the first time. _This will help you focus_. But J never accounted for _her_.

That silly girl who hounded him, trailed him, but not for some mere teenage crush. Not really. Relena relentlessly berated him and challenged him and told him he mattered until he finally believed it. Because that was all her message really was, wasn't it? That's how she really saved the world--saved _him. _You matter, she said. Confounding. Heero remembered Trowa's curious eyes on the back of his neck as he offered his gun to every surviving family member of the Doves he had slaughtered; curious and unpitying as he watched Heero remember how to breathe on his own, eat food and think to taste it too, how to sleep and recall dreams later. Perhaps he might have been the decayed husk of a soldier in another reality where she didn't exist, or in a lifetime where they had never met. But she had left her handprint on his soul, and he was better for it. She was magical; Relena.

Heero tried to smile, but his throat was too dry. He sipped at some water instead. His hands were clammy. He wanted to wipe them on his pants, but knew it would only distract Duo, who was frowning as he listened to Major speak to his men about the adjusted mission, the thinned out lines, the escort that had somehow transformed into a sting. Duo, who had left Preventers yesterday storming and angry, but returned expressionless and still, his eyes the only indication that he was feeling anything strongly at all. Duo, who had turned the pre-brief on its ear, leaving a roomful of people who were actually all very intelligent feeling stupid and uninformed. Heero was mildly confused by their reaction. Wasn't this why they had wanted Duo Maxwell? They should have been hardly surprised when he decided to give them exactly what they had asked for.

Duo looked at him suddenly, as if sensing Heero's thoughts had shifted to him. His eyes burned amidst the black shadow of his fringe. He was rebelliously dressed in black jeans and a flannel Heero had never seen before, even if his Preventer jacket was flung over the back of his seat. The line of his mouth seemed set, but it was more a look of concentration than one of consternation. He looked away just a heartbeat off-awkward and went back to staring at Major. Heero tuned in, and immediately regretted it. Major was giving his men leave to refuse the mission because of the involvement of child soldiers. Morally-sensitive, yes, but choices like those made Heero uncomfortable—and it seemed a bit showy, disingenuous. Most of the men and women that worked for Preventers now had been very young when they began their career in one way or another. None of the soldiers left, but judging from the way Duo's eyes had become slits in his face, Heero wondered if his instincts weren't entirely inaccurate.

A tap on his shoulder then, someone whispering in his ear that Une was on the line for him. Heero rose quietly to follow the messenger to an awaiting telephone. He didn't turn to look back, but could feel Duo's eyes on him, watching him leave.

"She's here," Une said, her voice clipped and distant as if she was fully immersed in some other project that had nothing to do with having Heero Yuy on the phone. "Thought you should know."

"Roger," he said, because it was instinctive. He meant it as a question. Somehow it sounded nothing like a question.

"She's asking for you," Une said. "I've informed her of your codename. See that she adheres to it."

"Yes, ma'am," Heero said, and hung up.

His hands shook.

~*~

Well! She's not your average chick, is she—trying to see the guy's that's trying to kill her.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her.

Relena wore a suit very much like the one she'd been wearing when he shot Mariemeia, but her hair was down, her bangs longer and styled smartly around her face. She rose like mist out of the chair she'd been waiting in as Heero stepped into the conference room. There were other people present, but all Heero could manage was counting how many, memorizing their sizes, and noting which ones were armed and which weren't before—

"_Apollo_," she breathed, and she might as well have said 'Heero' for all the warmth and bottomless affection she mustered into that single word. Relena approached him slowly, but was unafraid. Her smile was unhurried and genuine. Her eyes were wide and searching, all silent laughter and forget-me-nots. Relena's hands came up, long, slender fingers with skin like new cream. She smelled like cotton. Relena touched his face briefly, feather-like, before leisurely, deliberately wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. "It is so very good to see you again. It's been too long," she murmured in his ear.

He lifted one arm and applied the slightest amount of pressure possible to complete the hug, and stepped back. Immediately, her arms fell away, but she did not retreat. If anything, Relena's smile deepened. Against his will, Heero felt his expression soften. "Hello, Relena."

The door behind him flew open and Duo teetered inside, struggling with a strand of his hair that had become caught in a button on his flannel, his eyes fixed on the door number as if he was unsure he'd found the right one. Relena laughed, a tinkling sound that made Heero think of Christmas in London. She reached around Heero to help Duo untangle himself. If Duo was bothered by the maternal gesture, he certainly didn't show it. He immediately grinned at her, laughed a thanks, and swept her into a crushing embrace that lifted her right off her feet. By the conference table, one of the armed men, a bodyguard, straightened to full attention.

Duo let her down a bit more breathless and windswept, but she was still laughing, her expression beaming at both of them.

"Blackbird! How fitting for you, I think."

Duo bowed low, theatrically sweeping his arm through the air. "Glad to have met your approval, Princess. How've you been?"

"Very well," she answered, turning that smile back on Heero. Her cornflower blues eyes bored into his. "Very well."

~*~

Wouldn't be so suspicious if you tried to act natural…

Relena was displeased with the amount of Nairobi citizens refusing to evacuate the city. She closed herself up at Headquarters with only a handful of advisors and several live feeds communicating with Une's office, Dorothy Catalonia—who was in Paris representing the Foreign Minister at a Public Relations conference—and Kumbaki, to name a few, until she was finally satisfied with moving the accords to two days later than scheduled. Relena agreed that it wasn't really enough time to prepare better security for the remaining civilians, but also understood that prolonging the meeting with Kumbaki only gave the rebels more time to move in on the city. The Peacecraft envoy left for Africa later that afternoon. Apollo and Blackbird went with them.

The Ssese Islands contained some of the last functional military bases left in Lake Victoria. The Gundam Shenlong had destroyed most of the coastline bases, and also the mobile suit factory situated amidst Bugala Island, giving the chain back to the Basese people, who had become truly displaced and not much better than slaves during the OZ occupation. An interesting Bantu tribe—and Heero had familiarized himself with several—that worshiped a deity called Mukasa, were reported to be powerful in witchcraft and had a reputation for cannibalism. Heero wondered if Wufei knew.

Relena seemed unimpressed by her lake view quarters on Lolui Island, however her Portuguese assistant,Anabela, lit up like a Christmas tree, bustling about like a mother hen attempting to make it seem as much like an exotic resort as possible. Heero understood why Relena liked her. She was a short, square woman with dark eyes and even darker hair, but very fine bones and a pretty face even if deeply lined with age. She smiled a lot, her black lashes crunching as her eyes crinkled. She was irrepressible.

"When will Dorothy arrive?" Relena asked, the next morning over tea.

Heero stood somberly by the window, staring at the Ugandan coastline. Duo had all but disappeared into the bowels of the base since their arrival yesterday, throwing himself into operational preparations like a man possessed. Heero was with him at first, but Duo pointedly told him to stay with Relena. Someone must always be with her, he said. And even if her regular security was acceptably capable, they both agreed it wasn't enough. Not here.

"She'll be here before supper," Anabela answered from the kitchenette, just a notch too cheerful for Heero's mood. Her accent was thick, but discernable. A strange stressing on the n's, a rolling on the r's that went off-beat, but otherwise… "She landed in Guinea twenty minutes ago."

"Good," Relena murmured, rubbing at her temples.

Heero looked at her. Relena must have felt his eyes on her because she answered the unspoken question.

"There is an aggressiveness, a vivacity some politicking requires, Apollo," Relena said quietly, gazing at her tea. "Just as much as compassionate diplomacy. Dorothy and I counter-balance one another."

"I understand."

"Hm," she said only. Relena unraveled her legs from under her, patted the vacant seat beside her on the sofa. She had the grace to seem unfazed when he minutely shook his head. "Sally tells me you and Blackbird share a home."

Heero looked away from her expectant gaze, returning his eyesback to Uganda where rebels lurked in the bush. It was hot and humid, several degrees higher than comfortable. Heero didn't like the way his footsteps echoed eerily on the rocky pathway around the few short buildings on the island. He didn't like the buzzing of the insects swarming through the fauna either.

"I wonder," she said, "if the house is big enough for the two of you."

It was probably a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood. But Heero said, before he could stop himself, "It's too big."

Relena was silent, watching him with sad eyes. Then: "You should not have expected it to be easy, you silly boy."

Heero turned to face her fully, the hurt in his chest resonating down his arms and legs. She rose from the sofa, approached him, embraced him gently and stubbornly did not release him. Finally Heero relented, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair. His hands remained idle by his side as his eyes slid closed, as he heard her whisper: "Everyone needs a Wendy."

Heero didn't know what that meant. In many ways, Relena was just as odd as he was. Anabela was finally quiet in the kitchenette, watching them silently from the doorway.

~*~

You and I are going after the same thing. You can't hide it from me; I can see it in your eyes as plain as day, pal.

"I won't be going with you," Duo said, almost irreverently, as if he had known this for a while and only just now thought to mention it. "Sally's agreed to take my place. We think its best to have a medic with the envoy."

Heero paused, his hands stilling over the switchboard.

"Left gunner," Duo said, making notations on his clipboard.

"Green," Heero answered, his voice deep and automatic. They were doing preflight checks on the regiment of helicopters they intended to use in the morning. Relena had locked herself up with Dorothy Catalonia—who insisted she was more than enough protection for the Foreign Minister on a base full of Preventer soldiers—to pore over notes for the meeting with Kumbaki. "Who's my pilot then?"

Duo scribbled something down. "No, no. I'll fly you in. But there's a Blackhawk on the flat I'll take to the perimeter."

"You're with Major now." His tone was flat, non-objective and, admittedly, very nearly accusatory.

"Technically, I'll be with Chang, but he has to cover the waterfront with the Echo Fighter Squadron." Echo was a deployment of F-22 Raptors on loan from the U.S. Navy, and Chang's specific mission was to provide a retreat escort for the Peacecraft envoy,as well as covering ground units as they left Nairobi. The catch, of course, was the U.S. Navy refused to be involved in the fighting until it was affirmed that Relena and company were in the air at the close of the accords—unless they were attacked by sea-faring mobile suits, which Heero had discovered might be a lurking threat. Duo lifted a panel, checked some wiring, grunted and made another note. "This thing is a piece of junk. Anyway, you were the one who said they might have a pair of Virgos."

"It was a red flag in Noin's report," Heero said. "The biggest threats are the missing Tauruses."

"I read the detail, Heero."

"Why you?"

Duo looked up then, peering at him over the rim of his sunglasses, his expression plainly stating that no one expected Heero to budge from Relena's side during the op. and apparently Blackbird was the next best thing. But there was something more, just there, behind Duo's eyes. Something dark, almost manic. A gleam, a ghost of Duo's buried battle-lust. If anyone could combat mobile machinery with archaic weapons, it was Duo Maxwell. Heero had seen him do it at sixteen.

Duo looked back at his clipboard. "How are we on fuel?"

"Green and we have reserves. Duo—"

"Rear engines?"

"Duo."

"Don't Duo me," he snapped, climbing into the back and jumping onto the flat from the gunner platform to check the engines himself. "And you're breaking the rules, mister. 'Round these parts folks call me Blackbird."

Heero rolled his eyes skyward, sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

And followed him around the bird.

"Coward," he growled.

"Coward?" came the incredulous reiteration.

"You're avoiding."

Duo shoved his sunglasses up his forehead, tossed his clipboard into the chopper, and crossed his arms over his chest. Dressed in battle-fatigues riding low on his hips and a Preventer-issued black tank, leather gloves and oil smeared on his cheek, Duo Maxwell looked more at ease in this place than Heero could have ever expected. When had that happened? When had Duo Maxwell decided to play nice? Something was wrong.

"Fine. Not avoiding. Start talking—and make it quick. We've got three more birds before we can break for mess." Duo adopted his best look of impatient insolence.

"Was it your idea."

Duo blinked. "Probably? I don't know, man. I've said and suggested a lot of things in the past thirty-six hours. Whether it was one of the things they decided fit into their goddamn funding or not is beyond me."

Heero straightened, doing his best to dissemble. "You won't be reckless?"

Duo's face cracked,a boil of rage leaking through his expression finally. "Hey, fuck you, man. I will be as fucking reckless as I goddamn want to. Quit mothering me; you never used to do this."

"I'm not mothering you."

"You are," Duo challenged, taking a step toward him, his arms falling away from his chest, hands curled into fists. "If I want to beat up a Taurus with my bare hands, I'll do it _because that's what you people hired me for_. You wanted me to _unleash_ me. I'll be unleashed tomorrow, right? I swear to God, I'll bring the whole damn army to its knees."

Anger shook Heero's entire body like a bolt of electricity. Since fucking when did Heero become _you people_? "You start thinking like this and your luck will run out, Duo. You're not fifteen anymore. You're as fallible and breakable as the rest of 'us people'."

"Cute," Duo smirked. "And sure, my luck'll run out. And when it does I'll give Death the finger for making me the punch line of my own goddamn joke. It's what I do, Heero. What the fuck are you? New?"

Heero nodded, resigning, a weight settling in the center of his being. "Fine. Be reckless; die tomorrow because you're so eager to do what you do. I was never the one that wanted to unleash you. I thought it was you and me, _us_ and _them_. I thought we had at least _that_ in common."

That seemed to quiet Duo, who straightened up to his full height, uncurled his fists. His face was so immobile, staring back at Heero, that he might have been sleepwalking if Heero didn't know better. Finally, Duo lowered his sunglasses back over his face, making his eyes disappear behind the black lens, hiding whatever truth they might have betrayed. He walked around Heero and retrieved his clipboard.

"I'll finish the preflight," he said as he began to walk away. "Gear up after mess. I want to fly the perimeter once it gets dark."

Heero felt safe enough when Duo was flying that he could literally fall asleep. It was a comfort he had discovered sometime during the war, a comfort not many could rival. The lake bucked and thrashed under the stormy wind, an inky black, frothing, roiling mass of water. Duo sped over it, ignoring the war of sea spray beneath them, towards the faint tinkling of lights that marked the coast of Kenya clear on the other side of Lake Victoria. They passed over bright specks that bespoke of bonfires among the bush, village folk sitting on their verandas watching the storm coming, craning their necks to try and pinpoint what was making the sound the helicopter spread in its wake. Further on, the city of Nairobi. Quiet, but bright; still busy in the late evening, though well on its way to slowing down. Duo circled the city once and then headed back towards the lake. Against regulations, Duo turned off the radio connecting them to base, keeping open only the feed between their headsets.

"It _is_ you and me," Duo said, his tone quiet even if he had to speak loudly to be heard over the blades. "It is."

Heero looked at him but said nothing, watched the light of the moon battle with the switch board to illuminate Duo's face.

"Would you believe me," Duo said after a long pause, "if I told you I am holding perimeter so you won't have to?"

"I don't know," Heero answered. "You make it seem like it's more than that."

Duo wet his lips with his tongue, frowned into the dark, stormy horizon. Lightening shot down through the black clouds, making the world pulsate as evening dwindled into night. "Would you believe me if I swore I would come back to the flat and take you and Relena home?"

Heero considered this—and what it implied. "Yes," he said.

Duo took his eyes off the horizon, looked at Heero with intense, genuine sincerity. "I won't promise I won't be reckless, but I swear I will come back. I'll fly you in, and I'll fly you out."

It would have to be enough. They weren't the type of people to waste time on sentiments. "It's you and it's me," Heero said.

"It's us and it's them," Duo agreed, his eyes back on the storm ahead.

~*~

What took you, Heero? Don't worry. I left you _some_ action.

"_Major to all units, we have radar activity_."

"_Hawk One here, copy that." _Duo_. "Circling back to confirm aerial visual_."

"_Ten-four, Hawk One_."

Heero was very still, listening with one ear to the transmissions in his headset and to thediplomatic conversation at the table with the other, all the while keeping both eyes on hand placements. He stood directly to the right of Relena, who sat upright, listening to Kumbaki speak. Beside her sat Dorothy Catalonia, her body angled towards the Foreign Minister but her stern gaze fixed on the Kenyan politicians across from them. On either side of the pair of women were two other ESUN representatives: Evan Hale, a young man just barely older than Relena, whose position was unclear to Heero, though Relena spoke highly of him, and Stephen Malcolm, whom Relena had joked was sent by the President to make sure she behaved like a lady and did not promise things ESUN would not be willing to keep. Beside Heero, just behind and to the left of Relena, was Sally Po, alert and armed, her Preventers army gear pressed and polished, pale blue eyes fixed on the guard that had escorted Kumbaki and narrowing every time they fidgeted. Flanked on either side of the two SPG Preventers were Relena's regular security, a pair of men in black and white suits: one,a dark-skinned and stone-faced man called Darnell Rivers, andthe other, Alex Chin, whose appearance resembledAsian descent but tall and fair. All alert, all taut and ready to grab Relena Peacecraft and bolt the moment Major gave them the go.

Mauibi Kumbaki was a man whose presence filled up the entire room. Heero had been familiar with photos and televisions feeds of him, heard him speak on world news and radio, but it was something altogether different being near Kumbaki in person. He smelled of the mountains and rivers that had borne him; his eyes were black like silt and seemed to see only truth, piercing and unavoidable if they landed on you. His movements were few and decisive; this man knew only what he was about, and cared little for much else. His hands rested, interlaced in a seeming casual fashion, atop a short stack of hand-written notes he never once glanced at. He had a strong, square face with broad planes and stark slashes for features. He sat very straight in his chair, gazing with intent purpose at Relena as she spoke eloquently to him. When it was her turn to listen, Kumbaki's speech was polite but forthright, no room in his words for grandeur or embellishments.

"Lake Victoria is only valuable to us as an agricultural resource," Kumbaki said in his deep, rich voice, rolling like grassy hills. His accent was deeply influenced by his native tongue, but he spoke English clearly like he was born to it. "I do not think Uganda and Tanzania will appreciate this continued occupation of their coast, but I am not here to barter for them."

A twitch fromthe man sitting beside Kumbaki, who was named Alhaji and assumed to be some sort of advisor. Sally noticed it too.

"Yes, that is an unrelenting topic at ESUN," Relena said softly, smiling a little. "And as I said, we are willing to allow you to speak on this matter in Brussels. The point I am trying to make is you do in fact have a chair at Council now. That is the offer I can make today, and it is my sincere wish that you accept it. I think you have very good ideas for independent government policy, and you should present these ideas in Brussels."

"_Bogey faction visual confirmed, sending data now. Is this IRA?_"

"_43__rd__ Regiment, Tommy Four reporting. We have ground visual coming in from the east_."

"_Copy that, Tommy Four. Hold fire. Hawk One, received your data. Confirmed IRA logo in frontlines._"

"_Copy, Major. I'm at the edge of the perimeter now_." A pause. "_Major, I am confirming a visual on mobile machinery_."

"_Copy, Hawk One. How many?_"

"_Four. Please advise_."

"_Standby, hold fire_."

There were no less than a dozen men surrounding Mauibi Kumbaki. Only one sat at the table with the politician, Alhaji, and he was dressed in an odd marigold-colored suit jacket and red tie. His round head was shiny, pale brown eyes lifting periodically to look at Heero, then Sally, and finally back to Relena. The other men, introduced as Mambu, Jabati, Beah, Moriba, Jumah, Kanei, Musa, Kabbah, Gasemu, Kona and Mohamed, stood in some meaningful formation behind the two, listening to their own earpieces and watching the Peacecraft envoy with the same intensity as the Preventers were. Five of them, the nearest to the table, had thunderous expressions, as if extremely unhappy with what they were hearing. The rest were still, yes, but there was something anticipatory about their stance, about the way they held themselves angled away from each other. Heero didn't like it.

"_Echo One reporting. Waters are quiet_."

"_Copy, Echo. All units, prepare to engage_. _Echo, standby_."

"_Ten-four_."

"_97__th__ Regiment, SPG Eagle Nine reporting. Visual confirmed—armed rebels appearing from the northwest and advancing_."

"Furthermore," Relena continued. "It has never been the intention of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation to rob any people of their autonomy. Please believe that you will be received with respect and a willingness to hear you, Mr. Kumbaki. Our only regret is that it has taken nine years to attend to this matter properly."

Mauibi Kumbaki smiled slightly, though his black eyes had turned suddenly inward and reclusive. "It would be an honor to attend your Council is Brussels, Minister. One day, perhaps, my countrymen will be satisfied."

"_Hawk One to Major. Give me the go. Taurus Bogey One is Green_."

"_Hold fire, Hawk One_."

Heero breathed in quietly, holding the air in his chest, watching as one of the stone-faced men, Moriba, tensed, muscles rippling under his shirt.

The window shuddered slightly as a boom echoed distantly from far on the other side of the city.

"_Give me go, Major_."

Another faint reverberation from an explosion. A half-second of quiet. The whispering echo of the sound of screams in the distance.

"_Advance, Hawk One_."

Duo's answer was immediate, cutting off the end of Major's transmission. "_Hawks Niner, Twelve, Six and Four—fire at will, I repeat, fire at_—"

There was another reverberation from the window pane. Kumbaki did not look up, but Alhaji did, lifting his hand in a strange gesture.

Moriba reached into his jacket. Heero reacted reflexively, like a reflection only quicker. He shot Moriba between the eyes before the man had time to properly aim his Glock in Heero's direction. The bullet Moriba sent his way grazed his jacket, tearing the fabric, but nothing more. In a chaotic flurry of movement and shouting, a gunfight shook the conference room.

Sally was worth her weight in competency. She jerked Relena's chair back as Heero advanced, dragging her from the chair and shoving her into the arms of Rivers and Chin. Dorothy acquired a semi-automatic from Sally's holster and used her body to shield the Foreign Minister, backing her into a corner of the room with Hale and Malcolm. The men closest to Kumbaki, those who were able to reach them before being overpowered, fired their weapons at the men on the outer-flanks,who bewilderingly fought back. Heero sprinted atop the table in a blur of motion, downing Jabati and Kabbah, who were the first after Moriba to fire towards the Peacecraft envoy. Kona killed Gasemu. Beah fired at Kona, his back pushed against the side of Kumbaki's chair protectively, but missed. Kona smacked the pistol from Beah's hand. Heero fired again; Kona stumbled backwards with a shout. Relena screamed. Heero's empty chamber slid free, clattering on the table top, and he reloaded it, reached into his holster for his knife, aimed his firearm at Jumah and slid the edge of his dagger against Kumbaki's throat. Someone shouted in Bantu—Alhaji.

"Apollo, _don't_!" Relena.

The two days Preventers had used to prepare had given IRA the opportunity to infiltrate. Heero could tell, now, who was loyal to Kumbaki—and who was not. Alhaji seemed to be the ringleader, his face thoughtful as he peered up at Heero, still seated in his chair beside Kumbaki. Kanei, Mambu and Musa had their weapons trained on Beah and Mohamed, who were still pressed against Kumbaki, using their bodies to shield the politician. It was futile, since Alhaji had a semi-automatic pressed under Kumbaki's ribs, now, and even Heero was willing to kill Mauibi Kumbaki to ensure Relena Peacecraft's safety. The mission had been clear. The Foreign Minister's well-being came before anything, everything else. Kumbaki would be collateral damage if Heero's gambit failed. Mauibi Kumbaki'e black eyes bored into Heero, his gaze pulling on Heero like gravity. Heero finally looked down into the man's face—and saw that the man understood, even though Heero's knife was slicing shallowly into his throat. He had resigned himself into the hands of these men. Heero's pistol clinked against Jumah's, reminding the man that Heero had not forgotten him.

"Cease fire," Heero growled softly, a demand that was as dangerous and lethal as it sounded. "Or I will end him."

Alhaji's gaze slid casually behind Heero, where Relena now stood in the center of her two bodyguards, Sally Po, Dorothy Catalonia, Hale and Malcolm.

"Look at her again," Heero hissed, adjusting his aim to point directly at Alhaji, forcing the man's pale brown eyes back to him. "And I will kill you and everyone else from here to the door."

"He means it," came Dorothy's frank tone. "Every word. Why do you think we brought him?"

Alhaji smiled. "I can see you are a very dangerous man."

"Decide," Heero said.

Alhaji shrugged. "We just want him," he said, jerking his chin in Kumbaki's direction. "This coward thinks he can abandon his country in its most solemn hour."

"Apollo," came Relena's muffled voice. "Please don't."

Beah said something angrily in a language Heero did not recognize. Kumbaki, his face still upturned and gazing at Heero**[,]** who crouched above him, answered softly in the same idiom. Beah bowed his head, and then, scowling fiercely, put down his hands, said something to Mohamed. With a jerky movement, Mohamed threw down his gun and was roughly shoved towards the door by Musa. There was a loud banging from the hallway, and Kanei opened the door. Several IRA rebels stepped into the room, handling Beah and Mohamed into the hall. One of them spoke rapidly, and not in English. Alhaji shook his head, chuckled darkly and motioned for Kumbaki to stand with him as he rose. Slowly, Heero lowered his knife from Kumbaki's throat.

"We will leave," Alhaji said. "Take your women and do not return."

Heero stared at him, pointedly ignoring Kumbaki, who was backed into the rebel hands waiting for him. His mission was clear. His mission was clear.

Heero advanced as they backed out of the room. His hand was steady, his aim fixed. He stepped down at the other end of the table, just as Alhaji shut the door. Heero moved forward quickly, then, gun trained on the doorjamb as he turned to stand against the wall by the frame, ready to shoot anyone who came back into the room. He finally looked over to where the Peacecraft Envoy stood. Dorothy Catalonia broke away, neared the window, peering out through the blinds to attempt a glimpse of the battle taking place outside. Sally's weapon remained pointed at the door, but her expression was sour as her icy gaze roamed the carnage Heero had left on the floor.

"Now what?" she demanded.

"Step away from the window, Catalonia," Heero demanded, though she ignored him.

Relena covered her face with one hand as he spoke into his microphone, quickly updating base on the infiltration and their current location.

"_Ten-four, Apollo. Secure that room and standby, we're sending wings to fly you home. Echo One, prepare to deploy. Major to Hawk One, the envoy_—"

"_Hawk Niner to Major. Hawk One is down. I repeat, Hawk One is down. He destroyed Bogey Taurus One and Two. Hawk Seven is turning back for the envoy_."

A pause where static screamed in Heero's ears like banshees, cold dread seeping into his skin, down to his core. Relena's hand fell away from her face, her blue eyes dark and apprehensive. She had not heard the transmission, but she sensed the change in the atmosphere, the blackness creeping in at the corners.

"_Copy Hawk Niner. Apollo, standby_."

Sally had to answer for him. "Po to Major, ten-four."

The world seemed to split open beneath his feet, swallowing him up. He blinked, tried desperately to recapture that remote part of him that knew he couldn't care because he couldn't afford to. He reloaded his firearm. Sally was speaking to him, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.

He had smiled that devil-may-care grin as he switched off the envoy transport on the flat, jumped from the gunner. Waved as he jogged across the lift to the waiting Black Hawk that he would fly to the perimeter. "I'll be right back", he'd said. Relena had smiled indulgently. Dorothy had seemed faintly jealous. They were distracted too soon by Kumbaki's party waiting to greet them. They were busy being polite while Duo Maxwell lifted off to lead his Hawk Squadron into battle.

"He's crashed before," Sally murmured reasonably, absently tugging on Dorothy's sleeve so she would step back from the window. "Dozens of times. I'm sure he's fine."

"What's happened?" Relena demanded hoarsely.

"Nothing," Heero said in a dead voice. "Nothing has happened." But everything had happened—_was_ happening.

For several minutes, the radio feed was alive with reports. Duo's surviving Hawks could not bring down the remaining two Tauruses without Duo's guidance and the IRA breached the city. An RPG shot down Hawk Seven, and Hawk Niner sent Hawk Four for the pick-up. Another twenty-minutes went by. The pop-popping of automatic weapons tore through the air, dully bouncing against the quiet of the room as the envoy waited for Heero's signal, and Heero waited for Major's. Several explosions sounded, each closer than the last. Abruptly—

Don't worry. I left you _some_ action.

"_Blackbird reporting from Bogey Taurus Three. Locked on Four, firing now_."

Heero's head snapped up, looked around in bewilderment, realizing he hadn't imagined it as he saw a slow smile creep along Sally's face. "Told ya," she said.

"_Copy that, Blackbird. Good to have you back_."

"_Spoke too soon, Major. Reporting misfire. Rifle jam or something—hold on_."

"Hold the door," Heero ordered, and Sally rushed to take his position as he went to the window and pulled open the blinds. Two Tauruses could be seen towering over squat buildings several blocks away. Apparently, Duo was now in one of them. A Taurus discarded its rifle, turned to the other and lodged its right arm underneath the other's rib-plate. Heero felt himself grinning.

"_Ordering fall back of all ground units from Bogey suits," _came Duo's voice over the Taurus radio_. "This might get messy_."

"_Ten-four_," came the response from several feeds. Bogey Four attempted to aim its rifle against the rogue Taurus, but could not twist inward enough. Duo had both suits interlocked. The rogue hatch opened. Heero could not see Duo slip from the cockpit, but knew well enough he was. Distracted, however, by what Blackbird was doing to the enemy suit, Heero did not see the missile until it was just a block away, heading straight towards the building they occupied.

Heero was unsure of what he shouted, but it was enough that Rivers and Chin pushed Relena beneath them. Heero could not reach Sally in time, but he threw Dorothy to the ground, covered her body with his. The explosion shook the entire structure. Glass shattered, raining in slinging shards all around them. The sound, however, distracted him from the pain of the glass slicing into him. Deafening, leaving only a silence that was maddening, ringing. He rolled forward to one knee, shaking his head to dispel the rush of vertigo, the unsteadiness. He swayed, but he made it to his feet, dragged up Dorothy with him. The hot Kenyan air rushed into the room, scorching with the accompanying electrical flames sparking and sizzling around damaged wiring in the bent infrastructure. A gaping hole was all that remained of the wall with the window. The building shuddered. Heero stumbled forward, grabbed Chin by his collar and pulled him off of Relena. He shouted at the man, but Chin did not respond. Rivers rolled to his side, clutching his head, blood pouring from a deep gouge in his lip. Heero shook Chin, but suddenly Sally was there, looking horrible but seemed well enough to be walking. She laid a hand on his arm, reached down to check Chin's pulse, and shook her head. Heero set the man down, immediately turned his attention to the Foreign Minister. She was sitting up with the aid of Hale and Malcolm, who seemed dazed but mobile as well. Sally was shouting something to Heero, but his head was still ringing. He motioned quickly to her that they were leaving immediately. Heero would fly the transport himself if he needed to.

They were well into the hall before Heero could hear more than the shouting silence inside his head. His radio was fried and he pulled it from his ear. "Po, is your radio working?"

"Negative, Apollo."

"Rivers?"

"No, sir." Rivers supported Relena as they rushed down the hallway. Chin's dead body hung over Hale's shoulder--they were unwilling to leave a single one of them behind. Sally took up the rear, Dorothy and Malcolm followed closely behind Heero, who let his firearm lead every turn.

Heero decided to clear to the other side of the building before taking the stairs, unwilling to chance the stairwell on the previous side, as now IRA seemed hell-bent on burying them with the building. Explosions sounded off in rapid succession, surrounded on all sides by ceaseless gunfire. They made it up the seventeen flights of stairs without incident, moving quickly and quietly. At the top, Heero saw the exit door was ajar and spotted a shadow moving across it. He held up his fist.

"I'll clear you a pathway to the transport," Heero whispered to Sally. "Get them in; get it running."

Sally, fully focused, nodded once.

There were several IRA soldiers standing guard on the flat, their orders apparently to prevent the Peacecraft envoy from leaving. Heero nodded to himself, contemplating oddly that, yes, that would have been something he would have considered logical. That perhaps he would have thought of it too. He remembered, painfully, the Noventa Doves. Heero slipped through the door. He swiftly killed two, acquired one dead man's AK-47 and shot four more in rapid fire. The rest sought cover. Sally moved in, running towards the helicopter at full speed, the envoy close at her heels. All Heero could think was that Duo was not here. That he should be, but that he was not. Heero had an awful moment of hesitation, an excruciating flinch, a second to process the notion that he might not be willing to leave without him. Heero was unfamiliar with this:he had not anticipated that Duo would not keep his promise. Sally geared up the chopper, the whine of the engine battling with the exchange of gunfire across the flat as Heero covered the transport.

There was a rustling, a darting shadow, and Heero twisted, cock-and-lock, pressed the holster into his shoulder—and froze.

A boy. A child stared back at him, concerned only that he was caught mid-movement. An angry burn, not yet healed, branded I.R.A. into the side of the child's throat, a pink and red infected boil against his ebony, sweating skin. His black and yellow stare bored into Heero, blood-veins snaking spidery lines all across the whites of his eyes. His mouth was set in a serious frown, his face jaded and apathetic. Heero stared back. He stared, and saw himself. Tortured, Heero thought with a slash of agonizing pain that he had somehow become OZ. He had somehow become the enemy.

He stared, feeling sick, and felt a compulsion. He thought, perhaps this was how Relena had felt all those years ago when she confronted him at her school. Perhaps all this boy needs is to hear it. Heero remembered her saying, You matter.

He whispered, "You matter."

"HEERO!"

Pain blossomed in his shoulder as a bullet tore through him from the back. He was shoved roughly to the side. The trance was broken; the boy lifted his handgun with deadly, brutal intent—

And Duo, as he must, as he couldn't not, shot the boy twice in the face.

Duo grabbed Heero by his jacket and hauled him up, swearing foully, and exchanged rapid fire to the right of them, where IRA rebels were still attempting to swarm the transport. Duo shouted behind him, and Heero saw that Beah was there, carrying an injured Musa bleeding profusely from his side—and Kumbaki. Mauibi Kumbaki ran like a soldier, sharing the weight of Musa's body as Beah fired his way to the transport with an automatic rifle. Heero got his feet under him. Together, they ran to the helicopter and threw themselves into the cockpit. Duo moved quickly over the panel and gripped the stick, jerking it up, causing the bird to lurch. But rise it did. Beah manned the port side gunner, whileSally was fully engaged on the other side. Heero climbed into the back to relieve Sally so she could see to Musa. Duo screamed for Echo to deploy over the helicopter's radio, but did not wait.

What took you…

"I repeat: we are taking heavy fire. We need air cover now!" A scream of static, Major's voice indiscernible. Another transmission, this one sounding muffled, as if coming from the cockpit of a fighter jet. "Chang, I will kiss you full on the mouth if you get my ass out of here in one piece," Duo growled. "Bring the fucking rain."

"_Echo One to Transport, we are en route. Engaging hostiles now_."

Heero felt his finger spasm on the trigger of his machine gun, paused only briefly to reload, and kept on firing. The roar of the Echo deployment raged overhead, leaving a trail of wreckage in their wake. Duo navigated through the smoke, clearing the city at last. Heero finally pulled his finger away from the trigger, resting his head against the metal hull of the bird, one foot dangling from the gunner platformas he tried to feel the wind on his face. But all he could see was the dead eyes of the child that he couldn't save because it was not anything remotely close to what he was good at. The boy soldier that wore his face, staring murderously back at him without rage or feeling, only misguided, single-minded purpose.

The helicopter dipped dangerously, losing altitude. Duo swore softly behind him. Heero met Sally's alarmed expression and twisted to look at him. The dash trilled at him, but Duo's fingers were slow to quiet it, creeping along the switchboard. Just ahead, the coast of Lake Victoria.

"Apollo," Duo said, his voice rough and weak. "I need you in here."

Heero climbed into the cockpit immediately, his eyes searching Duo over. His combat gear was dark all along one side, and Heero noticed for the first timethat the right side of Duo's face and hair was matted with blood.

"I'm fading fast, Apollo. I need you to take the stick."

Heero's response was automatic, hands moving mindlessly over the panel, taking the gear and lifting the bird up, gaining altitude as they swept out over the water. "Blackbird, where are you injured?"

Behind them, Sally was moving forward through the hull, trying to get closer to Duo to check him, but the transport was over-crowded.

Duo's eyes drooped, his head nodding forward. His hands slipped completely away from the stick. "Everywhere," he whispered.

"Blackbird!" Heero shouted, panic bursting in his chest. The world opened up beneath his feet, a cavernous black hole attempting to swallow him whole. "Stay with me, dammit. Sally! _Sally!_"

**To be continued…**


	12. A Long Way Gone

**Title**: Prerequisite

**Summary**: Despair crept along Duo's skin, wishing he'd known before that there would come a time when he'd push this man too far, wishing he'd listened to the little voice inside of him that said one day, he'd have to pay the piper and start all over again.

**Story Summary** (I suck at these, but I had a request)**:** Nearly a decade after the war is finally, officially over, Preventers have become an organization to be reckoned with. Chang Wufei manages to enlist Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell using a silver-tongue and a little ruthless manipulation. A journalist is screaming for blood, demanding justice for war crimes. Africa is in a state of crisis as a Kenyan nationalist demands his country back. And every single surviving ex-Gundam pilot must now face once-slumbering demons.

**Disclaimer**: Gundam Wing is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction.

**Pairing**: 1x2, more may follow

**Spoiler Warning**: Scattered Duo-isms from the series.

**Alternate Warnings**: Rating MA is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations, which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death, war and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

**Author's Note**: This chapter was inspired in no small part by "A Long Way Gone—Memoirs of a Boy Soldier" by Ishmael Beah, to, you know, dig the knife in a little deeper. There was just something so painfully poignant about Beah's frankness, his unapologetic way of recounting his journey. I am thinking, more and more, that this book would be fantastic motivation for a POV by Trowa in a sequel to Can't Not. I see a lot of Trowa in Ishmael Beah. It makes me see so much more depth to a character that is otherwise two-dimensional for me.

Also greatly motivated by Muse's recent CD for this update. There are some really fantastic tracks on this album, really powerful and moving and completely breathtaking. I especially love the symphony tracks at the end. Was also inspired by a fanart by Luel Exana. I'm unsure of what the piece is called, but I pretty much describe it in the last paragraph of the chapter.

Unfortunately, this chapter is not beta-read (I'm sorry Link!). I am working very odd hours and only able to be on the computer between 3 and 5am lately, which makes it difficult to be online when Link is. Any errors spotted are completely my own!

This chapter took many re-writes. There was a point I wanted to make, and it seemed everything I had planned to make that point wasn't doing the job. This process can be very frustrating but I finally tweaked it to something a little like satisfactory. There are several little nuggets of fun hidden here and there too, nods to certain fandom ideas, foreshadowing, and reminders of small moments from earlier in the story. In a sense, I had great fun with this installment despite the difficulty, because there's room allowed here for us all to exhale a little bit, before moving on to the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it!

And thanks very much for reading,

Gloria

**Prerequisite**

Chapter Eleven

**A Long Way Gone**

AC 203

Black brightness swallowed him alive. He trembled inside of his body, his limbs stuck rigidly to his side. His heart quivered, his lungs, his kidneys, his very skin crawled; and yet he remained immobile. Silence screamed at him from every direction, buffeting his ears, the chaotic nonsense of the quiet beneath a whisper.

In his mind he saw a small figure, what could be a mouth moving. It said, Every time people come at us with the intention of killing us, I close my eyes and wait for death. It said, Even though I am still alive, I feel like each time I accept death, part of me dies. Very soon, It said, I will completely die and all that will be left is my empty body walking with you. It said, it will be quieter than I am.

For a moment, the figure solidified around the edges. For a moment, it became a boy. A boy that was heartbreakingly familiar. Dark messy hair slashing low over a handsome face, serious blue eyes glaring sadly inward, and mouth set in a contemplative frown. The boy wore a loose green tank and black shorts.

The boy shimmered, turning his head to look at him, and became another boy. This boy said, Very soon, I will completely die. His eyes were dark, almost violet, his mouth wide in a dark grin, his long hair roped into a braid that fell heavily behind him. The boy said, lifting his chin to reveal a priest's collar, And all that will be left is my empty body walking with you.

Don't worry. I will be very quiet.

The quivering of his heart stuttered, violently leapt in his chest like it was trying to break free. He remembered, through a haze of confused images, colors murky and diluted, seeing his reflection, over and over, some program driving a lesson mercilessly into his soul. He remembered going a little mad, his last sane thought was, yes, true isn't it. I am my worst enemy. That face, over and over and over and—

The cocoon squeezed around him, holding him still as he struggled against his invisible confines. He hovered in emptiness for an eternity, wondering where the boy had gone, how long it had been since he disappeared. Bright little lights flew by him in a stream of glory, dancing merrily beyond him, leaving him behind. He felt a heavy pull on his consciousness, and drifted.

Eons later, he stood in a room. There was a gurney, a body trapped beneath a rumpled white sheet. He marveled, idly, as he had not much reason for a while to think of anything at all, that blood does not look nearly as red as it does seeping into fresh linen, or cold winter snow. He remembered, in a flash, reading an article about a man, an artist, obsessed with understanding the nature of the color red, bathing for an entire day in a tub of pig's blood, and then rolling around on a flat of white canvas. He remembered the artist was irritated. He remembered the artist claimed it was not the same as blood on snow. He remembered thinking that this was rather funny.

Dear heavenly Father, please forgive us. For we know not what we do.

He ventured closer to the gurney. The walls were made of blue tile, green mold marring the grey in-between. Silver pipes jutted into the room at odd, irrational angles. Another boy, his hand on the rail of the gurney. The boy's shaved head was bowed over the dead person, his lips moving in silent prayer. His skin was grotesquely scarred, burned, slashed and dripping. He wondered if it was the dead man's blood, or the boy's, that stained the sheet. The boy looked up, turned his head. His eyes were dark brown, nearly black, the yellow of his eyes stained with spidery red lines. Two bullet-holes, seeping still, marked his face. One dead center between his eyes and the other shoved into his cheekbone, splintering bone and brain matter down one side of his face, down his neck, a small pile on his shoulder. There was something accusatory in his stare.

His feet drew him closer; though suddenly the quiver in his gut was back, some terrible instinct to flee overpowering him, a notion that this was horrible and could only get worse. He reached out, curled his fingers into the stained linen, wet still, warm still, with blood. He pulled. The sheet gave way. A face emerged. Blue and grey and green. Dead. The face of a dead man.

His body reacted before his mind could, lurching away, shaking from head to foot. He tried to scream a denial, but couldn't. His entire body seized up, pain lancing across his right shoulder, down his chest, his spine, his ribs, enflamed with agony. He was hovering again, but straining, straining. He gasped, attempted another scream, the pain made him see white. Garbled sounds coming in from the edges of blackness.

"….have activity on the monitor, Doctor. The sedative is wearing off."

"He's waking up. I have to induce—"

"No."

"I don't have time for this. Casey, get me—"

"I said no."

Something tugged through the haze, the fog, the mist that burned every inch of him. Something made him want to open his mouth, his eyes, tell them, tell them…

"He's crashing."

A roar, then, like some wild animal trapped with nothing but its rage.

"Get him out of here!"

Screaming. He was happy, for a moment, that someone could scream for him. Screaming, and shouting, and loud crashes. And then nothing.

Nothing happened for another eternity. It could have been a handful of moments, but his body felt wooden like it had been much longer than a moment. He knew he was dreaming, this time, as he stood on the pier and watched the sun hit the horizon, waking the world up with a grey dawn. The wind was cold on his face. The water was steely but calm, rising to meet him in small, white-capped waves. The boy he'd shot stood beside him, staring at his feet.

_Who are you_, he whispered.

_I'm a long way gone_, the boy answered, and closed his eyes.

~*~

Duo heard the beeping, the rustle of a nurse shuffle past him, could smell the all-purpose cleaner. It took much longer than the event of opening his eyes to figure out he was in a hospital, or at least some medical unit. Took even longer to remember anything that would suggest what landed him there, too.

What he did know immediately was that he itched like a mother. Itched at every inch of his body, and all he could really concentrate on was comprehending the best way to will his limbs back into kinetic movement so he could scratch himself silly. Itching, the one fault of genetic treatment, the byproduct of organs healing faster than they're supposed to. He groaned, feeling like an invalid when it winded him just to curve his fingers. He felt dizzy, unsteady within himself. He tried to coax himself up, but suddenly there was a hand on his chest, pressing him back.

"Take it easy, Danger," a voice said, belonging to some head with a lot of wavy hair. "Don't rush it; you'll only make it worse. You're going to feel off for a few minutes. But it gets better. Relax."

His mouth was dry, and he tried to swallow. His lips burned, chapped and split. His shoulder felt strange, an echo, perhaps, of pain. He mumbled something that didn't quite reach his own ears. He paused, tried to rearrange his thoughts into something coherent. Eloquently, he said, "Fuck."

The hazy figure was looming over him again, fiddling with mechanisms on the bed he lay on. A humming and a buzzing later, half the bed moved vertically, sufficiently propping him in a sitting position. Duo kept blinking, flexing his fingers and toes, tried to imagine the itch as warmth spreading throughout his limbs, up and down his spine. The smudgy colors were becoming more defined, but he still couldn't make out who it was bustling around his hospital room, checking off clipboards and turning off machines. Duo felt distracted; some _thing _tugging at the corners of his brain. He absently pulled out the needles in his arm, the back of his hand, the piercing sting shooing more of the fog from his mind. He removed the sensors from his chest and forehead, reached down and was relieved at the lack of catheter; though, judging by the discomfort, it hadn't been very long since it was removed. The doctor made sounds of disapproval at Duo's activity but made no move to stop him. It felt like bugs with pincers were crawling through the skin of his shoulder, over his rib cage, his back. The sensation was maddening.

"Fuck," he said again, and wearily let his head fall back.

He stared at the ceiling for many moments. He began to remember things like the sound of gunfire, the urgent quiet of the voice in his earpiece, the whir of the helicopter blades. He felt drugged, hung-over, and it came back to him slowly. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he could actually make out definitive features on her face. Her expression was one of patient watchfulness. He knew her.

"Sally," he said, and felt relieved it wasn't a stranger.

"Yes. Well done. Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Suddenly, in a rush, he felt the urge to cry, thinking—_knowing_—this was the worst possible scenario he could find himself in. And if it weren't for Sally, if it _wasn't_ Sally, he knew in his bones he'd have that psychotic break virtually breathing at his elbow. Duo loathed the idea of some doctor he didn't trust implicitly knowing more about him than he did. There weren't many things he feared more than being someone's lab rat.

"Four. Where's Heero?"

"Open up," Sally said, and when he complied, slipped a few ice chips into his mouth. An evasion, but the ice felt wonderful enough that he forgave her. Duo breathed in deeply through his nose, exhaled slowly.

"Well done," Sally said again, reaching for her stethoscope. "Do that again so I can listen."

"I'm fine," he said, but endured the cold and the poking and the prodding.

Sally's expression was odd when she pulled away finally, her eyes a little wide with unmasked bewilderment, her smile a little too awe-struck for Duo's comfort. "Incredible," she said.

Duo grunted, found the willpower to lift his hand, pass it sluggishly over his eyes. Everything felt heavier than it should, slower, his senses murky and off-beat. He certainly didn't feel incredible.

He pulled his hand away, gaze catching on his wrist. He brought his other arm up for inspection. Apprehension was an understatement. Duo felt the beginnings of panic for the first time in a long time, an undercurrent of rage close on its heels.

"Sally," he said, his tongue thick in his mouth, jumbling the syllables together indiscernibly.

"Wufei doesn't get injured nearly enough for me to properly—" Sally stopped herself, eyeing him sideways. "They really did a number on you boys, didn't they, back in the day."

He tried again. "Sal."

"Yes, love."

"Where am I?"

"Headquarters. We flew back four days ago."

"How long?"

Sally was looking at him strangely, as if gauging just how much to disclose. "Six days altogether."

"Jesus." Duo pushed against the panic swelling in his gut, something about the fading bruises on his wrists, the leather and metal manacles dangling off the sides of the bedrail, just close enough to clamp down on his hands and feet, the fog in his brain—something was triggering fight or flight, something was sending him over the edge. "What did you do to me?"

"Duo." She was walking away somewhere, and her voice traveled with her. "You got yourself pretty messed up. You had some nasty hemorrhaging, several ribs broken, horrible burns and lacerations all down your right side—"

"Taurus Four was being stubborn," Duo growled. He could virtually feel her stern gaze on him. He had her attention now.

"You were shot three times, Duo. Three times. Not to mention your shoulder. You managed to crack your collarbone, dislocate your shoulder, completely ripped—"

"Don't give a flying fu—"

"Don't you mouth off to me, Duo Maxwell; you goddamn know better." Sally was back in his face, her expression twisted and livid. "What the fuck were you _thinking_, trying to fly the transport? We could've crashed right into the damn lake!"

"Yeah, but I didn't." Duo struggled, his face hot, his body hot, roiling and itching, and propped himself up on his elbows, groaned fiercely until his legs finally swung over the edge of the bed. "And you better start squaring with me quick, Doc, because I have never in my life been out that long and I can't think of a single sedative that can keep me down for more than forty-eight hours. I know my body."

A flash of something unfathomable across her piercing, bright blue eyes, then, and she straightened. Sally looked very different today, but not so different from when he first saw her all those years ago. Her long white lab coat made everything else about her seem brighter, crisper. He saw a glimpse of the old Major in her expression towards him, too. That exasperation, that fondness, that utter confusion because all her medical training did not prepare her in any way for the creatures the colonies had sent down to Earth. "You're such a goddamn smartass," she said through her teeth.

"I'm not Wufei," Duo said, resting one arm on his knee. A rush of vertigo seized him and he saw stars. "Can't scold me into submission, Sal."

"Sedatives weren't working," she said flatly. "Your injuries were bad enough to be fatal. We couldn't move you, technically, because most humans wouldn't survive the transport. But we had to. We were risking another confrontation at the base on Ssese. You kept waking up. I was forced to induce coma."

"You _what?_ The fuck, Sally—don't _need_ your sedatives. Would've have healed screaming or not."

"I imagine so," she retorted, "but disfigured and unfixable. At the accelerated rate your body was 'healing itself', we had to keep you put together so you could wake up Duo Maxwell today and not some mangled demon."

Duo dropped his face in his hands, catching a dry sob with his palms. For six days, everything that made him what he was had been at the mercy of the Preventers and their medical staff. He didn't want to know how badly he had broken himself to need to be comatose in order to heal properly, but he did know Heero would have never stood for the procedure.

Heero. There was something wrong about the way Sally was avoiding the topic of his partner. She seemed rather cheerful about what she did to him in comparison with how she flinched at Heero's name.

"Sally. Sally, where is Heero."

"Don't mean to sound patronizing," she said quietly, lowering herself into a chair, "but it's rather nice to hear you two on a first name basis again, considering."

"I swear to God, Sally Po, I will lose my shit all over you. Considering _what_?"

"He's in the Cell Block," she said, with an abruptness that made Duo feel cold all over.

"Guarding who," he asked slowly, watching her face, watching her features settle into a cold stare that said what she couldn't bring herself to vocalize.

"Shit," Duo said, bursting into movement. He scooted forward on the bed, swung his legs over the side. He was hit with a wave of dizziness that made him see stars all over again. Sally didn't try to stop him, and that made the panic swelling inside of him burn like fury. "Shit. Where are my pants? Sally, where—what did he _do_?"

"Some sniveling corporal," she bit out nastily, handing him a pile of clothes, "made some flippant remark about you and Heero hit him so hard the man's nasal cavity—he's not _dead_, Duo, and your fly's still down. Luckily for the little prick, Heero wasn't actually _trying_ to kill him. And then one of Kumbaki's security got aggressive with him and if it wasn't for Relena losing her temper with the both of them, I think Heero might've—"

"Where's Relena now?"

"On her way back to Brussels. We left her a huge mess to clean up. Une's livid, but Heero refuses to speak with her. He won't be bothered with anyone but Wufei, and _he's_ not even allowed inside the cell."

"Who won't let--"

"Heero. Heero won't let anyone near him. Duo." She paused to lay a hand on his arm, partly to get his attention, partly to steady him as he stood up. "He went into a rage when I-when I…I haven't seen him like this in…"

Duo saw it then. He saw it in her face, in that half a second when she slipped and let the fear she was hiding peek through. Even Sally, who knew Heero as long as even he did, was cautious of him, and wise enough about what that man was capable of to be terrified knowing he was unstable. "Sally, it's not your fault. You didn't do this."

She looked away, her gaze going dark and inward. "We didn't think he'd be the first one to break."

"I know," Duo said gently, because he did. Duo knew he was the one they had been watching, trusting Heero to be the one to be the stabilizer. He knew they expected Duo to be rash and rebellious and unpredictable. And they were right. But they were wrong to make that Heero's responsibility, and Duo was wrong for it too. Duo thought of his pain-induced nightmare, the child with the bullet-hole between his eyes and the gurney and the bloody sheet. The body underneath.

Sally quietly handed him his badge and his jacket as he shoved his feet into his boots, still creased with combat-dust. "Isolation AF-42," she said, and went to sit down again. Duo watched her lean her head against the wall and close her eyes. And then he was gone, slipping by silently enough he was sure she wouldn't realize it until she opened her eyes.

Sure enough, Wufei stood against the wall just outside of I-AF-42, his head bowed slightly as he held some silent vigil. Wufei looked up just as Duo came within a foot of him. His expression was weary, and worried, and for a single moment Duo felt they had some common ground.

"He's a wreck," Wufei murmured, his voice raspy with disuse.

Duo looked deep into Wufei's black eyes, long enough to see a glimmer of the man's soul. "I shot a little boy right in front of him, Wufei. Kid was gonna kill him, but Heero was trying to-was trying to talk to him—I don't know. I screwed up. I screwed up, and I'll fix it. I'll fix this."

"He's not a machine. You can't cut some wires, turn a gear, replace a part and make things all better," Wufei said, quietly enough to qualify as a whisper. "You can't just fix him."

"I know that," Duo said—and it was weird, a little bit, that he felt guilty enough, worried enough about Heero, to feel like he needed to get Wufei's approval in order to see the man he…

Loved? Maybe, probably, because he couldn't, suddenly, even comprehend a future that didn't include him, a destiny, or whatever, that wasn't tied to his. And it never occurred to him before that moment that there would be a time where it was 'too late' to say 'it' or whatever needed to be said or do whatever needed to be done to keep him, and keep him happy and safe and—

"I know that," he said again, just barely, a breathy exhale. "Please. Please let me through."

Of course he did, of course he loved him, because nothing else in the entire universe was worth pleading with Wufei fucking Chang, the world's biggest douche bag, to do a thing Wufei was going to do anyway because the world's biggest douche bag didn't really have a choice in the matter. Wufei _did_ step aside though, murmuring, "I don't think this has everything to do with what happened in Nairobi. He was fine until you went under."

Duo acknowledged that with a quick touch to Wufei's elbow, and moved past.

Duo could see Heero's figure through the little glass window on the door. He sat on the edge of a metal cot, bent over with his forearms resting on his knees. His face was hidden by the sweep of his dark hair. He did not move when Duo opened the door—which was unlocked, and Duo guessed that Heero being there was voluntary, then, because even if it had been, there wasn't a cell in the universe that could hold Heero Yuy if he didn't want to be.

He closed the door behind him, waited the full three minutes it took for Heero to look up and see him. Heero went rigid all over, his face that stone mask he'd worn at fifteen. Just stared at him like he was staring at the wall behind Duo. Despair crept along Duo's skin, wishing he'd known before that there would come a time when he'd push this man too far, wishing he'd listened to the little voice inside of him that said one day, he'd have to pay the piper and start all over again.

Duo approached slowly, warily, and sat next to him on the cot. Heero continued to stare. But when Duo moved to touch him, Heero recoiled, a flash of anguish twisting his features as he stood suddenly and walking stiffly to the other side of the tiny room. Heero's fist came up as if he was going to punch the wall, but instead only tapped his knuckles against it, dragging them down the rough spackle. He slumped forward, his forehead resting against the wall. He looked as broken as Duo had ever seen him, in this room of dingy gray, wearing a Preventers jacket of blue and green. Blue and green and gray. A premonition, then. Duo nearly gave up.

"Heero."

Heero squeezed his eyes shut against the sound of his name, slouching even closer to the wall as if in pain. "I know now; I understand why you're so angry." Heero's eyes opened slowly, unfocused, unseeing. "I get it."

Duo was silent for a long moment. "Why, then."

Heero opened his mouth, his face twisted as if in pain, and then closed it again. He jerked his head from side to side, refusing to even try and give voice to the turmoil inside of him.

Nearly a decade ago, there was a day, a bad day, after a nasty mission that went as wrong as it could, that Duo finally reached out to Heero. They played a game.

"Would you like me to guess?" Duo asked softly.

That won him a prize. Heero twisted so that his back was against the wall, his gaze sharpening to focus on the far wall. It had worked that first time too.

"We are being used to facilitate a government that can tell a people whether or not their country belongs to them," Duo murmured. "And the only thing that gave them the right to do that was us because we won the war. It used to be a little easier to tell right from wrong."

A flash of color then, Heero's blue eyes looking at him through the corners of his lashes. If it wasn't exactly accurate, it must be pretty damn close.

"You told me in Spain that there wasn't any right and wrong, that we could operate in a grey area and feel good about it," Duo continued. "You're beginning to doubt that now."

Heero closed his eyes.

"But," Duo said firmly, getting to his feet. "I'm a notorious pessimist and if everyone thought the way I did no one would ever get anything done. OZ took what wasn't theirs, and if there is anything ESUN's got going for them is that the past however many years has been about giving it all back. And it's shitty, yes, because politics takes longer than a gun, but I became a mechanic because I trusted the ass-hats we left in charge to do at least a little bit right by what we stood for. And I wouldn't have joined with you if I really, really, really thought Preventers was just a sugar-coated OZ and that it was all bull—"

"Stop."

Heero's eyes were still closed, his mouth set in a severe frown. Duo wondered how much of his rambling Heero had actually listened to. "You have to stop," Heero said in a gravelly voice. "You've been trying to protect me, and you have no fucking right to."

That knocked the wind out of him. Duo took a step back, dumfounded. "What?"

"You took the Blackhawk Op so I would be forced to stay with Relena. You didn't want me out there, did you, didn't want me near child soldiers and dead civilians caught in the crossfire. You took on a burden that wasn't yours." Heero opened his eyes, but stared only at the wall in front of him. "I would have stayed with the Envoy anyway, Duo. If you had voiced the sentiment to me, I would have told you that. But you didn't. And I know you felt guilty about shutting me out because of what you said to me before the battle." He turned his face then, bent a pair of cold blue eyes on him. "I can't have a partner that keeps secrets from me."

"Heero, that's not really fair," Duo whispered, breathless. "That kid would have killed you and it was just one--just _one_ kid and you froze up. Did it ever occur to you that I was trying to prevent that?"

"Did it ever occur to you that if I hadn't been crazy about where the fuck you were I might have been more focused?" Heero snapped.

Duo sucked in a breath, took that in like a splash of cold water. "I'm sorry," he exhaled.

Heero's eyes lowered, but he said nothing, retreating back into himself.

"Heero, really, I'm sorry." Duo stepped up to him, reached out. Heero batted his hand away, but Duo lifted it again. Heero growled, anger flashing across his face, and shoved him back. Duo caught him around his wrists and pulled Heero with him. The cot caught the back of his knees, forcing him to sit back down, and Heero's weight teetered over him. Suddenly, Heero was still, slumped over Duo awkwardly, breathing heavily. Just breathing. Duo didn't dare let him go.

"I scared you," Duo said, the truth, the heart of the matter unfolding suddenly, becoming clear. In a flash, what Wufei said to him made sense. Heero had spent the past six days trying to cope with the idea that he wouldn't wake up, and there was nothing he'd be able to do about it. "I scared you and I'm sorry. I'm okay. I'm a shitty boyfriend and a crappier partner, but I'm alive, and I'm sorry."

Just breathing. Deeper, steadier, stirring the fine hairs at the nape of Duo's neck.

"I won't do it again," he said softly, daring, gradually, to release one of Heero's wrists. He reached around and up so he could stroke Heero's hair. Duo felt sort of silly, and the positioning was awkward, but the touch seemed to relax him. "I haven't been trying--and I can do that, for you. Just don't give up on me. Please, Heero, don't give up on me."

"I'm haven't. I won't." Heero finally moved, straightened, took Duo by the elbow and helped him up as well. "I want to go home," he said, and it was with such a tinge of petulance that Duo almost laughed. "I want to see Ash."

Duo smiled tentatively, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. Heero's expression seemed confused at the gesture, and Duo supposed it wasn't fair of him to do that either.

He still felt sick and trembling as they left the Cell Block, Wufei escorting them so they could move through the base quickly and quietly. His mind was filled with images from his nightmares. The accusatory stare of the child he'd shot, the child he killed without thinking, hesitating, or pausing to consider the ramifications because that's the monster he'd become.

He looked at Heero sideways as they crossed the flat to an awaiting helicopter, going crazy at what the man was thinking, fiercely despising that stoic expression that betrayed nothing. Duo looked at Heero and didn't think he'd be able to do anything with those thoughts anyway. He looked at Heero and wondered if he killed what was left of them when he killed that little rebel fighter on the rooftop. He looked at Heero and thought, _I'm a long way gone_.

~*~

The tree in front of Chris's house had somehow…exploded. Doug was out in the yard handling what he could into a pile by the purple pick-up. The two younger sisters were out as well, raking in the smaller stuff. Chris appeared from the backyard shortly after the black Lincoln pulled away from the street, carrying two large trash bags full of what looked like sticks and shrubbery. Nefie and Ash trailed happily in her wake. Ash let out a cheerful howl upon sighting them and charged forward. Heero was the large pit's first victim, and actually managed to topple the man to the ground.

Duo watched him go down, too dumfounded by the sudden silly grin that cracked his mask to reach out. Heero laughed as he wrestled with the animal, doing what he could to keep the dog from wetting his face with a slobbery tongue. Duo found a reluctant smile pull at his own lips.

"Oh, good," Chris said, glancing over as Nefie went to join the dog pile. "You're back. Yesterday's storm blew everything all to shit. Heero, could you help Doug so we can get all this crap down to the dump before they close?"

"Sure," Heero said, getting his feet under him and dusting off his slacks. "I already paid her," he added, as Duo began to pull out his wallet, "for the extra week of dogsitting."

Duo bit his lip, finding it difficult to meet Heero's eyes. Heero turned to help Doug and Ash jumped up to paw at Duo's chest. "Hey, Mutt," Duo murmured, rubbing the dog's head, feeling his heart constrict. "Missed you."

"I'd wager the feeling's mutual. He's been depressed." Chris came up to stand beside him, looking at him sideways in that sharp, perspicacious way of hers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Where'd you go, anyway?"

"Can't tell you that."

"Sure you can, you just don't want to." Chris took off her gardening gloves and blew on her fingers to warm them. Winter's chill had settled over Maryland while they were gone in Africa, it seemed. "Crazy doings in Kenya, I heard. Good thing Preventers were there to save the Minister. And it was nice of ya'll to get the one guy out of there too."

Duo looked at her. "You seem well-informed."

She smiled at him. "I watch the news."

He looked away from her, thinking of Hilde. "You shouldn't believe everything the news tells you."

"Oh, I don't," Chris replied. "That's why I asked."

Duo frowned, stuffing his bare hands into his pockets as a brisk wind picked up. The sky was grey, like the pier in his dream. "They talk about dead children on your news channel, shot down by our soldiers?"

Chris circled him, so that she could see his face again. "No. They didn't."

Duo looked into her eyes, felt his own burn. "I'm not a nice person."

Chris continued to look at him, her pretty face tilted a little to the side as she stared into his eyes. "My parents are dead," she said finally. "Dad was a medic, Mom worked on a naval base overseas. Both were killed during freak battles that involved your…machines."

It stung where the wind hit the streaks of tears on his face.

"If I can be strong enough not to hate you," she said, "then you can be strong enough not to give up because you 'feel bad'." Chris brought her hands down after punctuating her words with her fingers, reached out with one and squeezed Duo's wrist. Duo placed his free hand over hers.

"How can you not hate me?" he whispered. It made no sense; especially if Chris really did recognize him, made Duo's face _the_ face of all that destruction and death and loss.

"Well, for one, you're still trying," she said, and her face lit up with a friendly smile. "And two…" She turned her face to where Heero was lifting a heavy branch and placing it into the bed of the pick-up.

We're not the same, he almost said; but he didn't because the point was moot. What the hell difference did it make? He left her standing there and went into his house. He closed the door behind him and stood on the landing, staring aimlessly into the darkness. Abruptly, he was hit with the urge.

He swept up the stairs and went straight into Heero's room. He opened the nightstand, but it wasn't there. He searched his closet—nothing. It wasn't under the bed either, or between the mattress, or hidden in the pillows. He checked every pocket, every sock. He searched the computer room, the kitchen, even the fridge. Finally he turned to the bay window, just on the edge of panic, just on the edge of anxious, frantic overload. Heero was still in the yard, standing beside Chris as she talked rapidly and gestured toward the house. Duo looked down just as Heero tilted his face upward. He bent over the bench beneath the bay window, lifted the cushion to reveal the chest underneath. It was there on top of a pile of random gadgets and a set of tools. Duo reached around a bundle of wires, feeling the pressure in his chest peak and explode in a sob as he closed his fingers over it. He reset the cushion, and sat down.

He ran his fingers over the shiny front, the corners frayed and bent. He traced the palm trees with a fingernail, let the pad of his thumb sweep around the lining of the cove, imagined the sound of sea spray and crashing waves. The glossy surface was damp now, and he spread the salty wet across the vivid sparkling blue.

"We can go. Anytime, Duo. Say the word."

Heero.

"I don't want to quit. I don't want you to quit." Duo covered his face with his hands. The postcard of Formentera slipped through his fingers and whispered across the floor.

A warm hand covered his, prying his fingers away from his face. The kindness, the compassion in Heero's direct blue gaze hurt more than the blank stare did. Heero knelt in front of him, touched his face with his other hand. Duo closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "It wouldn't be quitting," he heard Heero murmur. "Look at me, Duo."

He did, flinching a little as Heero's eyes searched his face. Heero swept his thumb across his cheek and then back again. "This isn't just about you being angry at the world," Heero said, "is it? This is about you being angry with yourself. I know about that too, Duo."

"I just want it to mean something," Duo said brokenly. "I just want it to mean something."

"It does."

"God, don't do that." Duo stood up and brushed past him. "Don't fucking coddle me. You're just wasting your time."

"Am I?" Heero growled. "You coddle me in Nairobi and I'm not allowed to return the favor when you haven't stopped crying since we got in the car? I can't freak when they nearly take you away from me forever, but you can throw yourself into a fray that even when we had Gundams you'd've planned better before even toeing the line? You can crash your bird into a mobile suit and stand around another one self-destructing, and I'm not allowed to care?"

"I was doing my job," Duo said angrily, fisting at his eyes.

"Look at me."

Duo refused, storming instead into the kitchen.

Heero followed, grabbed Duo by the arm and swung him around. His face was furious and brilliant. Duo fell for him all over again.

"You're right about everything you said at HQ," Heero said through his teeth, shaking him a little. "You're right—but you're completely missing the point."

"I don't get you at all sometimes," Duo hissed, finding the fight in him again to struggle against Heero's iron grip. "I saw your face when I pumped that kid full of lead. I saw your fucking face, Heero. You'd've saved him. You'd've tried to and let the little bastard shoot you in the gut and I fucking killed him and now you're looking at me like—like—and I can't figure out why you keep wasting your goddamn time—"

"I don't blame you for that," Heero said so breathlessly, so earnestly that Duo went still and limp against the kitchen counter. "God, Duo, I don't—how the hell can you even think that? You know I've done my fair share of—Duo, look at me. I don't, not even a little bit, blame you for _saving my life_." Heero stepped in close to him, placed both hands on either side of Duo's face, held him like a precious thing. "I just want you; but you keep putting up more and more boundaries and I don't know how to reach you. If being here is going to do that to us, then I don't—we can leave. It's not worth it. It's not worth it. I'll go wherever you want us to."

Heero kissed him, very slowly, very sweetly. Duo let him. Duo closed his eyes and let Heero run his fingers gingerly over his wet lashes, down his cheeks, curl in the hair at the nape of his neck. Heero pulled away, touched his face one more time and then left the kitchen.

~*~

Heero would know, wouldn't he, about the physical repercussions of being injured badly enough that the body needs to shut down to recuperate. It was the first time he'd thought about that, sitting at the bay window and watching as a sister storm charged across the neighborhood, echoing the one he'd slept through. Rain pelted the glass, the sky dark and nearly green in its roiling wrath. Ash cowered behind the couch, only his head visible as he kept an eye on his master. Neither of them liked the sound of thunder, or the bright flashes of lightening.

Duo wondered if Heero had had dreams too, after he blew himself up. Trowa had been with him then and Duo knew little to nothing about that time after, only that Heero was a different person when he'd woken up. Heero would expect, then, that if Duo was up and walking, he wasn't as physically frail as the good doctors would expect him to be, just emotionally frail, psychologically frail. Doubting everything, questioning everything—like his ability to handle what he'd taken on. Like the idea that maybe Duo wasn't as up to it either, being around child soldiers, being the force that knocked them down because they were luckless enough to be on the wrong side of a skirmish. Maybe that was why Heero was so angry, because Heero knew that Duo wasn't any more capable of handling that than he was, but Duo got it in his head that he could take it on for the both of them.

Duo remembered what it was like to operate as a unit. He had actually learned that with Heero, with Quatre, to some extent the others as well. He re-learned with Hilde. It felt natural after a while, almost like with Solo. After Hilde left, he had to re-learn how to be alone. That hadn't taken as much effort. Now it felt like writing with his left hand. Toeing the line, Heero had said, and maybe that was what it was. Toeing the line, because Duo would try anything except that which would make him vulnerable.

Heero's door was unlocked and Duo let himself in, shutting the door before Ash could guilt his way through as well. Heero was toweling off his hair, his body still wet from a recent shower and wearing only a pair of sweats. Heero paused to look up at him, but saw Duo was content for the moment to watch, and continued drying off. Heero's head looked worse than the weather outside by the time he was done, and Duo spared a grin for that. Heero looked like he combed his hair with a sock at the best of times.

"I think we can make a difference here," Duo said quietly, as Heero tossed the towel into a corner of his room. "I don't want to leave yet."

Heero just stared at him, looking disheveled and damp and sexy. Expectant, waiting.

Duo felt his face grow warm, catching his eyes roaming and glanced away. "You're distracting."

"Oh?" It was lighthearted, that; a chuckle.

"Yeah." Duo did smile then. "I'm sort of into you."

"Huh." Heero crossed the room to retrieve a shirt from his dresser. "And I was getting the impression that playing house was a turn off for you."

"Little bit," Duo said, feeling such an unutterable sense of relief at their playful banter. "But I swear to Moses if you get anymore dressed, I might have to kill you."

Heero abandoned his search for a shirt, caught his hand, and pulled him closer. "How's your shoulder?" he murmured in his ear, wrapping one arm around Duo's waist.

"Stiff," he said honestly, "but at least the itch has worn off."

Heero made a small noise and nodded, his eyes going a little absent as he pulled down Duo's collar to look at the scar tissue. Then he removed Duo's shirt altogether and, frowning in clinical concentration, inspected the damage.

"I know it's not pretty," Duo muttered, feeling weird and bothered and slightly self-conscious.

Heero answered with half a dozen tender kisses Duo couldn't feel, lips pressed along the scar tissue, the bump of damaged bone, fingers trailing down the ribcage.

"You were just looking for a reason to get my shirt off," Duo softly accused.

Heero chuckled again and kissed his mouth.

There were times when it would start off rushing and bruising and almost, and sometimes very, violent, before gentling into something more tender. Tonight, Duo felt like he was caught in some kind of game of chicken, matching Heero's pace only to find him upping the notch, raising the bar, until Duo was frantic and begging, clutching at him and whispering nonsense.

It was strange and pleasant, letting the fight go out of him altogether, letting Heero lift him onto the bed and strip him slowly. Heero's mouth was everywhere on him, everywhere, and Duo closed his eyes and _let him_. No struggle, no pride, just closeness and heat and the swell of pleasure every time Heero twisted his grip there, and slicked his tongue just like that, touched him right on time, brought him up and brought him back, until Duo was mad with it. Heero bit his jaw and fit them together, losing it for one sparse moment before regaining control again, and the look on Heero's face was enough to send him right over the edge. Of course that wasn't the end of it; Heero wanted at least another hour. Gently, sweetly, Heero brought him back and up and over and it was for a time completely perfect.

Too hot and sweaty to do anything but spread out at odd angles across the bed after they came down again, gasping and moaning and sharing silly little laughs that meant nothing and everything. The storm outside continued to rage, Ash scratched at the door, and the still air began to cool them.

Duo heaved a sigh when Ash whimpered. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

"Always."

A dip in the mattress as Heero got up, the creak of the door opening, and Ash padded inside. He licked Duo once in the face and then went to curl up on the rug. Duo ran his hand through Heero's hair absently after he came back to bed, curling up against him and burying his face into the crook of Duo's neck.

Always, Heero had said, and Duo felt a pain in his chest at why he felt the need to ask in the first place. It had been very different, the weeks before Nairobi.

"They're going to ask me to do something," Duo murmured. "I think—I think I know what it is. I won't do it if you ask me not to." He paused. "I'd like you to be with me."

"I'm with you."

Quiet then. Rain pelted the window. Ash began to snore.

"Duo." Heero's fingers trailed over his arm, the inner hollow of his elbow, his wrist, curled around his hand. "We can save the world in the morning. Stay with me tonight."

Duo smiled a little, hearing his own words coming back at him. His smile was long-faded when a golden sunrise streamed in through the window, his tired gaze fixed on the ceiling, still troubled with the little boy who was a long way gone.

**To be continued…**

**A/N**:

"_Every time people come at us with the intention of killing us, I close my eyes and wait for death. Even though I am still alive, I feel like each time I accept death, part of me dies. Very soon, I will completely die and all that will be left is my empty body walking with you. It will be quieter than I am_." ~ **A Long Way Gone—Memoirs of a Boy Soldier** by Ishmael Beah.


End file.
